PLAYS 

BY 

BJORNSTJERNE    BJORNSON 

SECOND  SERIES 


PLAYS 


BY 

BJORNSTJERNE    BJORNSON 

SECOND    SERIES 

LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  (geografi  og  kjaerlighed) 
BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  (over  evne:  annex  stykke) 
LABOREMUS  (laboremus) 


TRANSLATED   FROM   THE   NORWEGIAN  WITH  AN   INTRODUCTION   BY 

EDWIN   BJORKMAN 


t  ; 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 

1914 


COPTRIQHT,    1914,    BT 

CHARLES  SCRIBNERS  SONS 


Published  February,  1014 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction 1 

Love  and  Geography 13 

Beyond  Human  Might 113 

Laboremus 225 


ivil8?aG0 


INTRODUCTION 


IJM     ''^^ 


2/ 


INTRODUCTION 

It  has  been  said  that  Bjornson  was  the  first  dramatist  who 
— in  "A  Business  Failure"  {E71  Fallit) — succeeded  in  creating 
a  genuine  home  atmosphere  on  the  stage.  And  speaking  of 
"Love  and  Geography,"  the  late  Henrik  Jaeger,  Norway 's  fore- 
most literary  historian,  had  this  to  say:  "Bjornson  is  as  con- 
sistent in  his  glorification  of  the  home  and  the  family  as  is  Ibsen 
in  raising  the  personality,  the  individual,  to  the  skies.  ...  In 
the  name  of  personal  self-expression,  Ibsen  lets  a  wife  leave 
her  home  to  seek  by  herself  a  way  toward  clearness  and  inde- 
pendence; in  the  name  of  the  home,  Bjornson  brings  an  es- 
tranged married  couple  back  into  each  other's  arms." 

This  intense  feeling  for  home  and  home  ties  asserts  itself  in 
all  of  Bjornson's  work.  It  was  part  of  his  nature  and  may 
to  some  extent  have  been  derived  from  his  peasant  ancestry,  j 
Whenever  he  refers  to  this  side  of  man's  existence,  his  voice 
seems  to  grow  mellower,  his  imagination  more  vivid.  Few 
have  surpassed  him  in  the  power  of  endowing  a  domestic  in- 
terior vdth  that  warm  light  which  flows  from  an  open  fire  in 
the  gloaming,  when  there  is  no  other  light  to  rival  it.  And 
he  seemed  to  have  a  special  genius  for  presenting  every  kind 
of  relationship  based  on  blood-kindred  in  the  most  attractive 
colours.  In  illustration  may  be  quoted  the  exquisite  scene 
between  brother  and  sister  in  the  second  act  of  "Beyond 
Human  Might." 

It  would  not  be  safe,  however,  to  conclude  that  "  Love  and 
Geography"  is  a  sermon  preached  on  behalf  of  the  home  as 
opposed — one    might    say — to    the    individuals    within    it. 
3 


4  INTRODUCTION 

Bjornson's  concern  for  the  right  of  every  personaHty  to  expand 
freely  in  accordance  with  the  laws  and  tendencies  of  its  own 
nature  was  hardly  less  eager  than  that  of  Ibsen.  And  it  will 
be  as  correct,  in  considering  the  first  play  of  the  present 
volume,  to  place  the  emphasis  on  Karen  Tygesens  initial  re- 
volt as  on  her  final  regrets  at  having  revolted.  It  is  true  that 
the  play,  as  it  progresses,  increasingly  accentuates  the  dangers 
to  which  all  the  members  of  a  family  become  exposed  through 
the  weakening  of  their  sense  of  unity  and  community.  But 
nevertheless  its  ultimate  lesson  seems  likely  to  be  that  a  home 
which  does  not  offer  reasonable  freedom  to  all  its  members  is 
doomed  to  perish. 

In  a  way  the  attitude  taken  by  Bjornson  in  this  work 
may  be  considered  old-fashioned,  as  he  persists  in  regarding 
woman  as  primarily  man's  helpmate.  But  within  these  lim- 
its he  is  radical  and  modern  enough  to  satisfy  the  most  ad- 
vanced demands.  The  play,  we  must  remember,  was  written 
in  1885,  when  we  had  barely  begun  to  feel  the  economic 
revolution  which  since  then  has  swept  so  many  millions  of 
women  from  their  old  domestic  moorings  into  the  whirlpool 
of  industrial  competition.  It  was  only  natural  that,  at  such  a 
time,  Bjornson  might  still  accept  the  home  as  "woman's 
sphere."  And  it  is  the  more  to  his  credit  that,  even  at  that 
time,  he  refused  to  make  it  her  prison. 

The  note  struck  from  the  first  is  one  of  protest  against  the 
selfish  tendency  of  the  artist  or  the  thinker  to  consiiler  his 
work  as  an  end  in  itself,  and  as  such  superior  to  the  life  which 
it  ought  to  be  serving.  A  play  of  nuich  later  date  and  out- 
look having  very  much  in  conunon  with  "Love  and  Geog- 
raphy" is  Bernard  Shaw's  "Man  and  Superman."  The 
central  theme  of  both  is  the  same,  no  matter  how  much 
the  two  treatments  of  it  may  diff<T.  And  the  outcome  is 
pretty  much  the  same  in  both  cases,  for  tlie  submission  of 


INTRODUCTION  5 

John  Tanner  to  marriage  is  essentially  the  equivalent  of  Pro- 
fessor Tygesen's  withdrawal  of  matters  geographical  from  all 
home  precincts  not  specifically  set  aside  for  his  own  use. 
And  both  surrenders  mean  in  the  last  analysis  that  the  in- 
dividual's right  to  free  development  becomes  meaningless 
whenever  it  threatens  to  defeat  the  liigher  rights  of  the  race 
or  of  life  itself. 

Like  so  many  other  plays  by  Bjornson,  this  one  has  been 
worked  over  in  the  course  of  the  years.  Originally  the  part  of 
Henning  was  much  more  conspicuous,  and  a  great  deal  more 
stress  was  laid  on  the  dangers  at  his  hands  to  which  both 
mother  and  daughter  became  exposed  through  the  breaking 
up  of  the  home.  To  the  distinct  advantage  of  the  play,  this 
element  in  its  plot  has  been  toned  down  and  pushed  into  the 
background.  As  the  play  stands  now,  it  brings  home  to  us 
very  forcibly  one  of  the  most  notable  qualities  of  Bjornson's 
dramatic  work:  the  charm,  the  jolly  large-heartedness,  the 
contagious -good  humour  which  he  infused  into  so  many  of  his 
characters.  It  was  so  much  a  part  of  his  own  nature  that  he 
seems  to  have  expected  its  presence  in  everybody  else.  And 
the  withholding  of  it  was  the  worst  judgment  he  could  pass 
on  one  of  liis  characters. 

To  our  surprise  and  pleasure,  we  meet  with  this  quality 
even  in  a  man  like  Pastor  Sang  in  "Beyond  Our  Power," 
whom  very  few  playwrights  could  have  made  anything  but  a 
splenetic  prude.  We  find  it  overflowing  in  a  character  like 
Professor  Tygesen,  and  its  presence  alone  prevents  him  from 
sinking  wholly  to  the  level  of  the  typical  domestic  tyrant. 
Tygesen  is  not  only  a  man  of  imagination,  but  a  man  with  a 
keen  sense  of  humour.  Even  at  his  worst,  there  is  a  glimmer 
of  mischief  in  the  corner  of  his  eye.  He  loves  to  tease — per- 
haps his  love  of  it  is  largely  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  trouble. 
His  mind  is  naturally  turned  outward  in  eager  study  of  a 


6  INTRODUCTION 

vast,  multiform  world.  And  so  the  reconciliation  between 
liim  and  his  wife  is  rendered  not  only  possible  but  probable. 
It  is  well  recognised  that  in  Tygesen  Bjornson  was  caricatur- 
ing himself,  and  for  this  reason  the  part  has  always  been 
played  in  a  make-up  suggestive  of  the  author. 

"Love  and  Geography"  is  very  broad  comedy,  turning  in 
spots  into  outright  farce.  Yet  it  is  as  serious  in  purpose  and 
as  close  to  life  in  all  its  bearings  as  the  most  tear-dripping 
tragedy.  This  is  another  constantly  recurring  characteristic 
of  Bjornson's  work — and  one,  I  think,  that  should  make  him 
particularly  attractive  to  the  English-speaking  public:  he  can 
discuss  problems  without  raving,  and  preach  sermons  without 
whining.  He  is  so  strong,  so  full  of  life,  that  he  can  afford  to 
smile  in  the  presence  of  serious  difficulties — confident  as  he 
is  that  mankind  sooner  or  later  will  overcome  any  difficulty 
against  which  it  brings  its  full  energy  to  bear. 

In  this,  as  in  many  other  respects,  Bjornson  came  closer  to 
the  American  spirit  than  any  other  one  of  the  great  Scandi- 
navian writers  of  the  last  century.  He  himself  was  always 
conscious  of  this  kinship,  and  it  was  with  the  joyof  a  child  that 
he  set  out  for  the  United  States  in  September,  1880,  to  stay 
there  eight  montlis.  While  travelling  through  the  country  he 
seems  to  have  been  constantly  struck  by  a  democratic  spirit 
that  found  its  expression  not  only  in  political  institutions,  but 
in  the  terms  on  which  man  met  man  everywhere — even  within 
the  walls  of  a  prison.  One  day  he  was  taken  to  visit  the 
Massachusetts  State  Prison  at  Concord,  his  host  and  guiile 
being  Gov'crnor  John  Davis  Ixing.  A  convict,  hearing  of  the 
presence  of  the  chief  executive  within  the  prison,  asked  the 
privilege  of  a  talk  with  him  in  order  that  he  might  apjK-al  for 
pardon.  'J'his  talk  took  place  in  the  warden's  office,  and  to 
Bjornson's  intense  surprise  and  <lelight  the  first  thing  done 
by  the  governor  was  to  make  the  convict  sit  down  on  a  chair 


INTRODUCTION  7 

close  to  his  own.  Bjornson  wrote  home  of  this  scene,  adding 
some  memories  of  a  very  different  nature:  King  Oscar  seated 
at  a  dining-table  while  his  host,  Count  Wedel — the  country's 
foremost  citizen  at  the  time — was  waiting  on  him  without 
being  permitted  to  sit  down  once  during  the  lengthy  meal;  a 
cabinet  minister  keeping  an  oflBcial  from  his  department 
standing  for  thirty  minutes  while  delivering  a  report;  and 
so  on. 

In  mentioning  this,  I  have  more  than  its  anecdotal  interest 
in  mind.  I  wish  to  make  it  easier  for  non-Scandinavian  read- 
ers to  understand  those  scenes  in  "Beyond  Human  Might" 
where  Holger  and  the  workmen  come  in  direct  contact  with 
each  other.  To  American  readers  in  particular,  the  arrogance 
of  Holger  before  the  catastrophe  and  the  cringing  humility  of 
the  workmen  after  it  may  seem  equally  exaggerated.  But  at 
the  time  when  the  play  was  written,  in  1895,  the  modern 
labour  movement  had  not  yet  gained  its  present  hold  on  the 
Scandinavian  countries.  Since  then  things  have  changed 
tremendously.  But  then  the  sharp  line  between  upper  and 
lower  class  was  still  practically  intact,  and  the  attitude  of 
employer  toward  employee  was  frequently  one  of  unbearable 
insolence.  The  scene  in  the  third  act  of  "Beyond  Human 
Might,"  though  somewhat  theatrical  in  its  defiant  speeches, 
is  in  spirit  largely  true  to  the  life  of  that  day. 

Industrialism  was  then  young  in  all  the  Scandinavian  coun- 
tries, but  especially  in  Norway.  On  his  own  ground  the 
peasant  retained  his  ancient  independence  of  spirit  and  man- 
ners. But  turned  into  a  city  workman  he  lost  his  old  class 
pride  as  well  as  the  sense  of  strength  springing  from  an  imme- 
diate relation  to  the  main  sources  of  human  sustenance. 
Dragged  from  his  native  soil,  he  fell  for  a  while  into  a  state 
of  abject  subservience,  out  of  which  the  best  of  his  class  could 
save  themselves  only  by  emigration.     To  Bjornson  every 


8  INTRODUCTION 

phase  of  this  spectacle  was  a  constant  cause  of  provocatif)n, 
and  he  strove  through  a  long  lifetime  to  force  the  educated 
and  propertied  classes  into  assuming  a  juster  and  wiser  at- 
titude toward  those  on  whose  toil  their  own  prosperity  and 
supposed  superiority  finally  rested. 

"Beyond  Human  Might" — as,  for  several  reasons,  it  has 
been  found  expedient  to  name  the  present  version  of  the  second 
of  the  two  plays  which  Bjornson  named  "Beyond  Our  Power" 
— is  not,  however,  primarily  a  treatment  of  the  relationship 
between  capital  and  labour,  or  between  employer  and  em- 
ployee. At  its  heart  lies  the  same  cry  that  rings  so  passion- 
ately out  of  the  previous  play  with  the  same  original  name 
(Over  Evne) :  Bjornson's  protest  against  the  tyranny  of  the 
supernatural,  the  infinite,  the  "boundless."  At  one  time  able 
to  accept  established  Christianity  as  a  sufficient  formulation 
of  life's  highest  truths,  he  had  been  led  by  the  reading  of 
Darwin,  Spencer,  Mill,  and  Comte  to  take  a  new  position, 
whence  the  Christian  placing  of  life's  purpose  beyond  all  life 
actually  known  to  man  seemed  the  greatest  obstacle  ever 
interposed  between  mankind  and  a  happier  existence. 

What  he  had  come  to  feel  as  a  menacing  peril  as  well  as  a 
hampering  clog  was  man's  tendency  to  waste  his  energy,  his 
passion,  his  faith,  on  problems  which,  at  the  best,  could 
merely  furnish  his  mental  faculties  with  a  fascinating  game, 
while  at  the  same  time  he  was  slighting  or  wholly  neglecting 
his  actual  environing  conditions.  Bjornson  had  come  to  feel 
that  man  was  everlastingly  hoping  to  achieve  through  a  mir- 
acle, through  some  one  world-shaking  event,  what  could 
only  be  conquered  step  by  step  through  age-long,  unremit- 
ting, well-directed  toil.  And  so  he  had  come  to  hate  and 
dread  that  queer  streak  in  man's  make-up — that  "craving 
for  the  boundless" — which  seemed  all  the  time  to  take  the 
ground  from  under  his  reason  at  the  moment  when  he  most 


INTRODUCTION  9 

needed  it.  And  whether  the  expected  miracle  was  religious 
or  political,  spiritual  or  social,  made  no  difference  to  him. 
In  each  and  every  case  he  found  it  a  veil  thrown  between 
man  and  his  actual  goal — if  not  a  new  abyss  opening  beside 
his  already  sufficiently  dangerous  path. 

"Our  consciences  can  be  no  reliable  guides  to  us,"  declares 
Bratt  in  the  second  act,  "for  they  have  never  been  at  home  on 
earth  or  in  the  present.  We  are  always  striving  for  Utopias, 
for  the  boundless " 

"Can  you  imagine  anything  more  cruel,"  cries  Rachel  in 
the  last  act,  "than  a  power  within  ourselves  that  goads  us  on 
to  that  which  our  whole  nature  resists.?  How  can  happiness 
be  possible  on  this  earth  until  our  reasoning  faculties  become 
so  spontaneous  that  no  one  can  use  us  like  that?" 

Throughout  this  play  as  well  as  the  earlier  one,  it  is  Rachel 
who  acts  as  spokesman  for  the  author.  The  choice  of  a 
woman  for  this  part  is  not  exceptional  with  Bjornson.  On 
the  contrary,  like  Ibsen,  he  was  always  making  women  his 
mouthpieces.  This  was  characteristic  of  his  view  of  woman 
as  nearer  to  the  fountainhead  of  life,  as  more  in  accord  with 
its  fundamental  purposes.  She  was  to  him  not  a  being  su- 
perior to  the  male,  but  an  indispensable  corrective  without 
which  the  masculine  tendencies  toward  experiment  and  ab- 
straction would  send  the  world  flying  into  uncharted  and  un- 
livable  regions. 

As  I  have  already  mentioned,  this  play  bears  in  the  orig- 
inal the  same  name  as  "Beyond  Our  Power."  It  is  a  sequel 
but  can  hardly  be  called  a  second  part.  The  two  plays  are 
wholly  independent  of  each  other.  It  is  not  necessary  to 
read  one  in  order  to  understand  or  enjoy  the  other,  although 
a  knowledge  of  the  earlier  play  will  add  to  the  appreciation 
— and  probably  also  facilitate  the  understanding — of  the  later. 
Four  of  the  characters  in  the  first  play  reappear  in  the  sequel. 


10  INTRODUCTION 

They  are  Elias  and  Rachel,  Draft,  and  Fallc.  In  each  case  the 
later  phiy  shows  a  logical  development  of  temperamental 
traits  already  indicated  in  the  earlier  one.  Of  the  new  char- 
acters in  "Beyond  Human  Might,"  two — Credo  and  Spera — 
may  appear  dangerously  fantastic  to  many  readers.  They 
are  nevertheless  irresistibly  charming.  And  like  so  much 
else  in  the  play,  they  are  symbolical  rather  than  real.  They 
are  the  future,  the  new  mankind,  stripped  of  all  futile  dreams 
— and,  therefore,  the  richer  in  dreams  that  may  come  true. 
Nor  must  Credo's  various  plans  for  the  improvement  of  human 
existence  be  taken  too  literally.  It  is  the  spirit  of  the  whole 
thing — the  glowing  faith  that  shines  through  it — wliich  should 
furnish  us  with  inspiration,  no  matter  how  insufficient  or  even 
childish  any  detail  of  the  boy's  programme  may  appear  to  us. 
Like  all  the  world's  greatest  dreamers,  Bjornson  was  too 
brave  or  too  innocent  to  stop  before  the  risk  of  seeming  ridic- 
ulous. And  if  the  inventions  on  which  Credo  reared  his  young 
hope  should  strike  many  as  rather  too  materialistic,  that  must 
be  accepted  as  a  part  of  Bjornson's  own  reaction  against  the 
days  when  he,  like  Bratt,  "spent  his  time  wool-gathering  in 
another  world." 

To  make  it  easier  for  the  reader  to  follow  the  action,  which 
is  not  always  as  clearly  indicated  as  might  be  desirable,  I 
want  to  point  out  that  Ilalden,  the  architect,  is  revealed  to  us 
— by  hints  rather  than  by  open  statements— as  the  natural  son 
of  Ilolger  and  as  the  man  who  has  instigated  the  deed  of  Elian. 

"Laboremus" — "Let  us  work" — is  an  intense  psycholog- 
ical study,  having  for  its  central  figure  the  striking  character 
of  Lydia,  the  "Undine."  This  ultra-modern  adventuress 
is  the  embodiment  of  a  principle  which  Bjornson  ref)eatedly 
attacked  during  the  later  part  of  his  life:  that  principle  of 
overgrown,  unconscionable,  anti-social  individualism  which 
has    its    main    roots    in    the    misconstrued    philosophies   of 


INTRODUCTION  II 

Stirner  and  Nietzsche.  Among  the  youth  of  Europe  during 
the  last  decades  of  the  century,  Bjornson  found  this  prin- 
ciple worshipped  as  an  excuse  for  turning  their  alleged  search 
after  self-expression  into  unscrupulous  self-seeking,  and  in 
one  work  after  another  he  gave  battle  against  tendencies  so 
hostile  to  all  that  was  most  sacred  to  liimself.  The  basic 
theme  of  the  play  "At  Storhove"  {Pa  Storhove),  for  mstance,  is 
almost  identical  with  that  of  "Laboremus."  But,  for  all  his 
burning  antipathy,  Bjornson  was  too  much  the  artist  not  to 
make  the  figure  of  Lydia  appealingly  human,  and  more  than 
one  critic  has  found  her  the  most  attractive  character  in  the 
play. 

Technically  considered,  the  play  strikes  one  especially  by  a 
quality  wliich  may  be  designated  as  "close-knit."  It  con- 
tains only  five  persons,  not  counting  a  few  shadowy  hotel  serv- 
ants, and  for  a  few  brief  moments  only,  during  the  entire 
three  acts,  does  the  stage  hold  more  than  two  persons  at  the 
same  time.  All  these  persons  do  is  to  talk.  But  what  reve- 
lations come  to  us  out  of  their  talking;  what  lurid  flashes  of 
ordinarily  hidden  soul-depths  are  laid  bare  to  us;  and  what 
vistas  of  action — even  of  action  in  the  sense  of  bodily 
movement — are  thrown  open  to  us !  Of  all  B jornson's  plays, 
this  is  probably  the  one  in  which  he  approached  most  closely 
and  most  successfully  to  the  methods  characteristic  of 
Ibsen.  On  the  other  hand,  the  principal  objection  to  the 
play  will  be  found  in  its  musical  symbolism,  which  at  points 
is  carried  so  far  that  the  reader  finds  some  difficulty  in  follow- 
ing. But  there  is  not  enough  of  this  to  mar  fatally  a  work 
otherwise  so  instinct  with  fascination.  Viewed  in  its  entirety, 
rather  than  in  detail,  it  impresses  us  with  an  air  of  artistic 
and  intellectual  grace  that  has  few  parallels  in  the  drama 
of  to-day. 


LOVE   AND    GEOGRAPHY 

(GEOGRAFI    OG    KJ.ERLIGHED) 

1885 


CHARACTERS 

Professor  Tygesex 
Karen,  his  idfe 
Helga,  their  danghter 
Mrs.  Birgit  Romer 
Professor  Turman 
Hexning,  an  artist 
Miss  Malla  Rambek 
Ane,  a  servarit  girl 


LOVE   AND    GEOGRAPHY 

(GEOGRAFI    OG    KJyERLIGHED) 

ACT   I 

A  large  room  with  windows  at  the  left.  There  is  a  door  in  the 
opposite  wall  leading  to  Professor  Tygesen's  study.  In 
the  centre  of  the  rear  wall  a  huge  doorway  opens  on  a  wide 
hall.  It  is  hung  on  both  sides  with  heavy  draperies.  A 
stairway,  laid  with  thick  carpets  and  leading  to  an  upper 
floor,  rises  from  the  centre  of  the  hall.  Back  of  the  stairway 
is  a  door  leading  down  to  the  cellar. 

The  hall  and  the  stairway  have  the  appearance  of  belonging  to  a 
museum.  The  same  is  partly  true  of  the  room  itself.  Most 
of  the  objects  croioded  into  the  place  are  ethnographical 
specimens. 

There  is  a  long  table  on  either  side  of  the  doorway,  and  both  of 
these  tables  are  covered  w>ith  open  books  and  strips  of  paper 
arranged  in  little  piles,  tcith  a  stone  on  top  of  each  pile. 

At  the  right,  in  the  foreground,  stands  a  sofa  unth  a  table  in  front 
of  it.  A  woman's  saving  things  are  on  the  table.  An  easel 
with  a  canvas  showing  the  portrait  of  a  woman  stands  in  the 
foreground  at  the  left.  The  room  contains  also  a  number  of 
chairs,  a  tall  mirror,  and  other  furniture,  all  of  it  in  ex- 
cellent taste. 

The  door  in  the  rear  is  open  and  laughter  is  heard  from  the  hall 
outside  as  the  curtain  rises.     Then  Mrs.  Karen  Tygesen 
and  Mrs.  Birgit  Romer  appear  in  the  hall. 
15 


16  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

K.4.aEX.  I  didn't  recognise  you,  at  once. 

BiRGiT.  But  I  knew  you — oh,  before  I  saw  you! 

Karen.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  it  was  by  that  laugh  I  knew  you.  It  hasn't 
changed  at  all  in  seventeen  years. 

KL\REN.  Ah — as  if  you  didn't  know  we  were  living  here! 

[Both  come  into  the  room. 

BiRGlT.  I  should  have  known  you  by  that  laugh  if  I  had 
heard  it  in  Australia. — Yes,  you  have  been  to  Australia,  too, 
haven't  you? 

Karen.  AVhere  haven't  we  been?     Ha,  ha,  ha! 

BiRGiT.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  You  make  me  laugh,  too.  My,  but 
this  is  nice!  [They  embrace  and  kits  each  other]  How  you  have 
kept  young,  Karen ! 

Karen.  How  about  yourself?     You  look  almost  like  a  girl. 

BiRGiT.  I  must  return  the  compliment. 

Karen.  I  knew  it  wouldn't  be  long  before  you  turned  up. 

BiRGiT.  Of  course,  you  have  heard  that  we  inherited  the 
old  family  place. 

K-VREN.  The  "Horseshoe" — the  marvel  of  our  childhood? 

BiRGiT.  Yes! 

Karen.  I  go  out  there  at  least  once  a  week. 

BiRGiT.  To  the  "Horseshoe"? 

Karen.  That  is,  I  pass  it  on  my  way  to  the  school. 

BiRGiT.  Oh,  yes,  there  is  a  boarding-school  for  girls  not  fur 
from  us. 

Karen.  And  that's  where  our  daughter  is. 

BiRGiT.  Is  she?  You  have  only  one  child — ^and  keep  her  in 
a  boarding-school? 

Karen.  Oh,  it's  such  a  splendid  school.  And  besides,  it 
wasn't  good  for  her  to  be  at  home.  My  husband  must  have 
quiet. 


ACT!  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  17 

BiRGiT.  Of  course,  she  isn't  very  far  away — only  an  hour's 
drive. 

Karen.  Yes,  I  visit  her  every  Sunday. 

BiRGiT.  And  she  was  in  town  yesterday,  wasn't  she.'* 

Karen.  Helga? — No. 

BiRGiT.  I  noticed  a  couple  of  girls  at  the  theatre  last  night, 
and  a  lady  sitting  next  to  me  remarked  that  one  of  them 
looked  like  your  daughter. 

Karen.  Looked  like  Helga.'* 

BiRGiT.  That's  the  way  I  happened  to  hear  that  you  were 
living  here. 

Karen.  Yes,  we  have  been  living  here  about  a  year  now. 

BiRGiT.  But  I  didn't  know  it  before.  I  got  here  only  the 
day  before  yesterday.  And  out  at  the  "Horseshoe"  there 
was  only  one  room  in  which  the  paint  had  had  time  to  dry — 
the  one  with  the  big  bay  window,  you  remember. 

Karen.  The  one  that  was  haunted.? 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  the  one  that  was  haunted.  We  can  get  to 
it  only  by  walking  on  boards.  I  should  like  to  know  what 
kind  of  paint  they  use  here  in  Norway — it  never  seems  to 
dry.  We  stick  in  it  like  flies. — Well,  so  I  went  back  to  the 
hotel.  And  having  to  stay  in  the  city,  I  thought  I  would  go 
to  the  theatre  and  look  for  some  familiar  faces — especially  as 
it  was  Sunday. 

Karen.  Yes,  so  did  we. 

BiRGiT.  The  house  was  full.  I  got  a  front  seat  in  one  of 
the  boxes.  Everybody  stared  at  me,  and  nobody  recognised 
me.  Of  course,  I  was  using  my  opera-glasses  most  of  the 
time  while  the  curtain  was  down. 

Karen.  Well,  how  did  it  strike  you? 

BiRGiT.  It  made  me  feel  as  if  I  might  just  as  well  have  been 
gone  a  hundred  years.  Most  of  it  was  new — so  very  new! 
But  there  was  also  much  that  never  seems  to  change.     There" 


18  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

was  Mrs.  Holm  in  the  orchestra,  just  as  soft  and  round  and 
cosey  as  ever — only  it  wasn't  Mrs.  Holm,  hut  her  daughter, 
our  little  friend  Augusta.  And  there  was  Mrs.  Holm's  old 
mother,  just  as  thin  and  withered  and  fond  of  the  show  as 
ever — only  it  wasn't  Mrs.  Holm's  mother,  but  Mrs.  Holm 
herself. 

Karen.  Ha,  ha — that's  just  the  way  it  is! 

BiRGiT.  And  if  there  had  been  any  change  at  all,  it  meant 
only — well,  for  instance,  that  the  big  nose  of  the  Bruns  had 
shifted  its  place.  Now  you  find  it  on  the  moon-faces  of  the 
Tor  pes. 

Karen.  Ha,  ha! — There  has  been  a  lot  of  marrying  be- 
tween those  two  families. 

BiRGiT.  But  what  I  did  know  wasn't  a  circumstance  to 
what  I  didn't. 

K\REN.  Yes,  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it.^  Most  of 
the  people  here  are  newcomers. 

BiRGiT.  We  Norwegians  must  be  a  dreadfully  restless  lot. 

Karen.  On  our  travels  we  have  found  Norwegians  every- 
where— that  is,  where  there  was  any  water. — But  you  said 
there  was  somebody  there  who  looked  like  Helga? 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  there  was. — Really,  I  think  I'll  have  to  take 
oflF  my  coat. 

Karen.  Do,  please! 

BiRGiT.  I  started  out  early  this  morning,  and  it  was  quite 
cold  then.     And  now — what  sudden  changes  you  have  here! 

Karen.  I  imagine  the  weather  is  a  little  sharper  than  it 
used  to  be  at  Odessa? 

BiRGlT.  Oh,  it  could  be  sharp  enough  down  there. 

Karen.  Let  me  take  your  coat. 

BiRGiT.  Oh,  no! 

[She  puts  it  on  one  of  the  tony  tables  by  the  door. 
Kahen  cries  out. 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  19 

BiRGiT.  Mercy,  what's  the  matter? 

Karen.  My  husband's  notes — his  excerpts!  You've  put 
your  coat  on  those  he's  using  just  now! — Heavens,  there  he 
comes  now!  [She  moves  the  coat  hurriedly  to  a  chair. 

BiRGiT.  I'll  be  glad  to  see  him  again. 

Karen.  [Going  to  the  door  and  looking  out]  No,  it  wasn't 
anybody. 

BiRGiT.  It  wasn't  anybody,  you  say? 

Karen.  No,  but  he'll  be  here  in  a  moment  now. 

BiRGiT.  But,  dear,  why  has  he  got  all  his  notes  lying 
around  here? 

Karen.  He  hasn't  got  room  for  them  in  there. 

She  picks  up  tlie  coat  carefully  and  hayigs  it  over  the  hack 
of  a  chair. 

BiRGiT.  And  all  these  stones  here? 

Karen.  We'll  have  to  put  them  back,  each  one  on  its  own 
pile.  There!  It's  to  keep  the  notes  from  getting  mixed  up. 
— This  is  Russia. 

BiRGiT.  Russia? 

Karen.  That's  what  he  is  writing  about  now.  And  while 
it  lasts,  the  whole  house  is  in  Russia. — You  might  have  caused 
a  lot  of  trouble. 

BiRGiT.  Well,  they  have  plenty  of  it  over  there. 

Ka.ren.  All  these  are  notes  on  the  languages  in  Russia. 

BiRGiT.  Oh,  I  see. 

Karen.  He  is  busy  on  the  languages  just  now.  And  you 
can't  imagine  what  a  lot  of  them  there  are. 

BiRGiT.  Suppose  I  should  take  it  into  my  head  to  mix  up 
all  these  languages? 

Karen.  It  wouldn't  be  a  joking  matter,  I  tell  you. — 
There,  now!     I  hope  everything  is  as  it  was— — 

BiRGiT.  Before  the  confounding  of  the  languages. 


20  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Karen.  Ha,  ha!  It's  such  fun  that  you  haven't  changed 
the  least  Httle  bit! 

BiRGiT.  Is  that  so?  [Tfwij  come  forward  again,  but  stop  in 
front  of  the  windoics]  How  beautiful  this  land  of  ours  is!  I 
don't  see  how  I  could  have  forgotten  it.  Perhaps  I  had 
never  noticed  it.     I  was  so  very  young  when  I  left. 

KL\REN'.  Yes,  it  is  beautiful. 

BiRGiT.  And  what  a  spring!  I  feel  as  if  I  had  never  seen 
a  spring  before. 

Karen.  And  yet  some  p)eopre  say  we  have  no  spring  at  all. 

BiRGiT.  Then  it  must  be  the  summer  that  looks  like  spring. 
Really,  I  must  make  a  tour  of  the  country.  They  tell  me 
there  are  places  surpassing  even  this  one  in  beauty. 

Karen.  Yes,  here  you'll  find  prettiness  and  grandeur  side 
by  side. 

Birgit.  Now,  for  instance,  that  young  leafage,  and  that 
greensward  over  there — did  you  ever  see  anything  more  deli- 
cate? And  the  colour  of  it!  And  the  colour  on  the  hills! 
What  life  there  is  in  it! — But  the  people  look  as  if  they 
were  not  very  happy. 

Karen.  Not  happy  enough  to  suit  you. 

Birgit.  They  look  as  if  they  were  going  out  to  the  ceme- 
tery to  put  flowers  on  a  grave. — Oh,  dear,  do  you  paint? 

Karen.  No,  I  am  being  painted.  I'll  move  the  easel  for- 
ward a  little,  so  you  can  see. 

Birgit.  But  that's  the  work  of  a  master. 

Karen.  Yes,  he  is  a  master.  You  must  have  seen  his 
name  quite  often — Henning. 

Birgit.  Oh,  Henning!     But  it's  excellent,  Karen! 

Karen.  You  think  so ? 

Birgit.  Is  it  possible  that  he's  in  love  with  you? 

K.\REN.  Why,  the  idea — !     Ila,  ha! 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  21 

BiRGiT.  But  there  is  something  about  the  way  he  has  seen 
you —     And  then  you  brightened  up  all  of  a  sudden 

Karen.  Did  I? 

BiRGiT.  You  know,  there  is  something  about  painting  that 
makes  it  so  easy  to  slip. 

Karen.  But,  Birgit!  You  don't  speak  from  personal  ex- 
perience, do  you? 

Birgit.  Partly.  Once  I  met  a  painter  who  was  abroad 
"studying."  He  was  married — but  I  am  not  quite  sure  he 
knew  to  whom. 

Karen.  Well,  this  one  is  not  married. 

Birgit.  Perhaps  not — but  he's  so  very  susceptible. 

Karen.  How  do  you  know.'* 

Birgit.  I  saw  him  at  the  theatre  last  night. 

Karen.  Henning? 

Birgit.  He  was  there  with  those  two  little  girls  I  spoke  of. 
And  so  I  had  to  hear  a  thing  or  two  about  him. 

Karen.  From  whom.' 

Birgit.  [While  she  continues  to  study  the  portrait]  From 
that  lady  sitting  next  to  me.  In  one  of  the  other  boxes  I 
noticed  two  young  girls  and  a  man  who  were  laughing  and 
having  an  awfully  good  time.  I  noticed  them  during  the 
first  entr'acte,  and  again  during  the  second,  and  so  I  asked 
about  them.  The  girls  were  sitting  as  far  back  as  they  could 
get  in  order  not  to  be  seen.  And  I  was  told  that  one  of  them 
looked  very  much  like  your  daughter. 

Karen.  No,  Helga  wasn't  there — of  course,  they  wouldn't 
let  her  go  to  the  theatre  without  our  permission.  You  know, 
it's  really  a  very  fine  school. 

Birgit.  All  right — that's  the  waj'  I  learned  you  were  here, 
however.  Everybody  knows  your  husband.  He's  appar- 
ently quite  famous. 

Karen.  Yes,  he  has  become  so  in  the  last  few  years. 


22  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

BiRGiT.  I  remember  seeing  his  name  in  one  of  the  ItuHun 
reviews  not  long  ago.  But  he's  sueh  a  queer  fellow,  I  have 
been  told. 

Karen.  Really?     Ha,  ha!     Who  told  ^■ou? 

BiRGiT.  I  don't  remember.  Oh,  yes,  I  can  name  one — 
my  husband. 

Karen.  Well,  here  he  comes,  so  you  can  judge  for  yourself. 

BiRGiT.  Is  that  he  out  in  the  hall? 

Karen.  Yes,  that's  he.     He  has  had  his  morning  walk. 

Tygesen.  [Outside]  Tooteroo  —  tooteroo  —  tooroo!  [Ap- 
pear uig  in  the  doorway]  What  weather!  It's  just  raining 
sunlight!     And  then  the  fragrance!     [He  starts  for  his  room. 

Karen.  But  don't  you  see ? 

Tygesen.  What? — oh! 

Karen.  My  husband — Mrs.  Birgit  Romer. 

Tygesen.  Birgit — Romer?  That  means,  Birgit  Hamre! 
Married  to  old  man  Romer  at  Odessa — the  fellow  with  the 
skull-cap  and  the  two  parrots  in  that  big.  cool  room  with  the 
tiled  floor.  We  stayed  there  a  whole  week — but  you  were  not 
at  home. 

Birgit.  Yes,  it  was  provoking. 

Tygesen.  Of  course,  it  was  provoking! — And  now  you 
come  flying  from  the  Black  Sea.  To  settle  down  at  the 
"Horseshoe."  Lord,  but  that  place  is  wonderfully  situated 
among  the  hills  out  there!  Leaning  on  its  arms,  so  to  speak, 
and  taking  in  the  view.  [lie  rests  his  chin  on  his  folded  hands  in 
illustration]  Our  little  girl  is  in  the  school  out  there.  A 
splendid  school!— Well,  dear  lady,  when  did  you  get  here?— 
Wait  a  moment:  I  must  have  a  real  look  at  you! 

Karen.  My  husband  is  very  near-sighted. 

Tygesen.  Those  confounded  field-gla-sses — on  my  travels, 
you  know — they've  clear  jJuUed  the  eyes  out  of  my  head. 
Therefore — why,  you  are  nothing  but  a  girl. 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  23 

BiRGiT.  That's  what  I  have  been  saying  of  your  wife. 

Tygesen.  Karen?  Married  at  sixteen — has  a  daughter  of 
sixteen — twice  sixteen  makes  thirty-two.  That's  what 
Karen  is — thirty-two.  Of  course,  we  have  to  take  oflF  the 
year  before  Helga  was  born. 

BiRGiT.  Add  it,  you  mean.' 

Tygesen.  Beg  your  pardon!  Add  it — that's  what  we  have 
to  do.  Consequently,  Karen  is  nearly  thirty-three.  So 
there  you  see! 

BiRGiT.  And  I  am  quite  thirty-five. 

Tygesen.  Are  you?     But  Karen  looks  older  than  you. 

BiRGiT.  You  must  be  very  near-sighted. 

Tygesen.  Really? — Let  me  see! 

Kjvjien  evades  him  and  goes  out  into  the  hall,  leaving  the 
door  open  behind  her. 

Tygesen.  She  doesn't  dare!  That's  what  I  expected. — 
Oh,  we  walked  too  far  to-day,  and  I  got  too  hot.  I  hope 
you'll  excuse  me,  madam,  for  not  taking  off  my  hat.  I 
have  to  keep  it  on,  and  my  coat  also,  till  I  can  change.  It 
was  Turman's  fault.  Hang  Turman!  I  couldn't  make  him 
understand  me.  The  fact  is,  he  has  no  imagination  at  all. 
And  without  imagination  there  can  be  no  new  discoveries: 
that's  what  I  always  say.  But  what  does  Turman  do?  Of 
course,  he  remembers  everything  he  has  ever  laid  eyes  on, 
and  so  he  pieces  it  together  in  dry-as-dust  fashion — all  that's 
known  about  that  one  thing.  Just  now  it's  Ishtar.  The 
goddess  Ishtar,  you  know.  There  has  been  a  lot  of  contro- 
versy about  her — an  awful  lot.  And  so  he  searches  all  the 
Babylonian  and  Assyrian  myths  for  every  word,  every  line, 
every  sign  referring  to  Ishtar.  And  in  that  way,  you  see — 
by  putting  it  together  just  as  you  put  together  a  jig-saw 
puzzle 

BiRGlT.  I  understand 


24  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Tygesex.  And  by  taking  away  all  later  poetical  additions 
— for  in  all  myths,  you  know,  there  are  poetical  elements 
which  have  been  added  later 

BiRGiT.  Of  course. 

Tygesex.  In  that  way  he  brings  out  the  original  image. 
What  do  you  think  of  that? 

BiRGiT.  It's  very  ingenious. 

Tygesen.  Of  course,  it's  ingenious.  Turman  is  quite  a 
big  man.  And  do  you  know  what  he  has  discovered  in  that 
way? 

BiRGiT.  Not  me,  I  hope.  [Pause. 

K.\REN.  [WJio  has  returned  in  tJie  meantime]  How  could  that 
interest  Birgit? 

Tygesen.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  I  guess  not!  This  comes  from 
having  had  to  swallow  so  much  of  Turman's  talk.  Now  it's 
running  over.  [Karen  goes  into  Tygesen's  sfudij]  We  always 
take  our  morning  walk  together,  Turman  and  I,  and  we  take 
turns  talking — I  one  day,  and  he  the  next.  To-day  it  was  his 
day. — Geography  and  philology  are  more  nearly  related  than 
most  people  think.  It  was  the  study  of  languages  that  led 
me  into  geography.  I  began  as  a  philologist.  But  always 
while  at.  work  on  my  languages,  especially  the  old  ones,  it  was 
as  if  I  had  heard  the  distant  roaring  of  the  sea  in  one — as  if 
I  had  heard  that  long-drawn,  melancholy  soughing  of  the 
waves — and  that  incessant  gentle  lapping.  And  in  another  I 
would  hear  the  echoes  rolling  between  the  hills — popj)ing 
and  leaping  and  laughing.  And  then  the  languages  of  the 
big  plains — full  of  heavy,  monotonous  trudging  and  something 
that  sounded  like  the  tramp  of  horses  and  the  rattle  of  carts. 
And  in  that  way  I  saw  landscapes  and  habits  of  life  emerging 
from  the  languages.  It  tempted  me.  I  had  to  read  about 
the  countries  inhabited  by  those  peoples.  I  got  so  deep  into 
it — that  I  had  to  stay  forever.     Well,  well! — The  sound,  the 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  25 

phonetic  element,  caught  hold  of  my  imagination  from  the 
start.  But  Turman  hasn't  the  least  sense  for  it.  Not  a 
vestige  of  it.  He  makes  me  mad!  But,  Lord,  what  doesn't 
he  know!  Mountains  of  memorised  facts! — Yes,  in  spite  of 
all,  I  have  the  deepest  admiration  for  Turman.  I  look  up 
things  in  him  as  if 

BiRGiT.  Is  he  married? 

Karen.  [Who  is  just  coming  in]  Ha,  ha! 

Tygesen.  Karen,  she  asks  if  Turman  is  married! 

Karen.  No,  he  was  born  a  bachelor. 

Tygesen.  If  you  had  ever  seen  him — for  a  moment  only — 
you  would  never  have  asked  that  question,  Turman  comes 
from  the  Saeter  valley.^  He  looks  like  a  seal.  Everybody 
from  that  district  does.  And  he  was  brought  up  at  Chris- 
tiansand — a  city  where  there  is  nothing  but  women. 

BiRGiT.  Well ? 

Tygesen.  Oh,  of  course,  there  are  a  few  men  in  the  place, 
too.  But  a  fellow  from  Saeter,  who  is  dumped  into  Chris- 
tiansand  to  get  his  upbringing— eh.''  He  has  hated  women 
ever  since.  Turman  has  never  in  his  life  been  mortgaged 
to  anybody — not  for  a  single  hour  even — that's  the  plain 
truth. 

Karen.  Hadn't  you  better  go  in  and  change  now.^ 

Tygesen.  Right  away.  Although,  of  course,  I  keep  pretty 
warm  talking  like  this. — So  you  have  come  to  live  here? 
— Well,  what  do  you  think  of  the  spring  here  in  Norway? 

Birgit.  Oh ! 

Tygesen.  Yes,  isn't  it — ?  And  you  are  not  going  away 
again  at  once? 

Birgit.  I'll  be  here  all  summer. 

Tygesen.  You've  no  children  waiting  for  you,  have  you? 

Birgit.  No. 

'A  district  in  the  southeastern  corner  of  Norway. 


26  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Tygesex.  Do  you  know,  I  have  just  been  tliinking  of  a 
quick  trip  down  in  your  direction. 
BiRGiT.  Down  to  Odessa? 
Tygesen.  Not  quite.     But  to  Bessarabia. 
BiRGiT.  Why,  that's  next  door  to  us. 

Tygesen.  Well,  yes.— I  have  just  received  an  article  that 
makes  me  question  what  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes. 
Who  is  right?     Can  my  own  eyes  have  been  at  fault?     Just 
a  flying  visit— and  the  whole  matter  would  be  settled. 
BiRGiT.  But  if  you  wait,  we  can  go  together. 
Tygesen.  No,  there's  no  time  to  lose. 
BiRGiT.  Why? 

Tygesen.  Russia  is   in   the  press  now.     I   have  got  far 
beyond  that  whole  matter.     And  I  can't  turn  back.     Kish- 
inev—that's as  far  as  I  need  go  to  settle  it. 
BiRGiT.  Only  that  far? 

Tygesen.  Perhaps  not  even  that  far.     Once  I  was  there 
alone.     Karen  and  Helga  had  stayed  at  Budapest.     Then  I 
dreamt  of  my  mother.     I  only  dream  of  mother  when  some- 
thing is  happening.     Never  at  any  other  time. 
BiRGiT.  How  strange! 

Tygesen.  Not  so  very  strange.  One's  mother— that 
means  the  family. 

BiRGiT.  Had  anything  happened? 

Tygesen.  That  morning  I  telegraphed— and  in  the  after- 
noon I  had  a  reply  saying  that  just  then— which  meant  the 
day  after  the  dream— both  of  them  had  been  in  serious  danger. 
And  Helga  was  not  well. 

BiRGiT.  And  you  hurried  back  to  Budapest? 
Tygesen.  Of  course  I  did! 

BiRGiT.  I  knew  your  mother.  She  used  to  collect  plants 
and  insects. 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  27 

Tygesen.  My  mother  taught  me  to  see.  She  saved  my 
childish  imagination  from  all  nonsense  and  directed  it  toward 
life  itself.  What  I  am  I  owe  to  mother.  You  see,  Mrs. 
Romer — a  mother  doesn't  give  us  life  only  once,  but  a  thou- 
sand times. 

Karen.  Hadn't  you  better  go  and  change  now? 

Tygesen.  You're  right!  You're  right! — Pardon  me,  mad- 
am. It's  impossible  to  be  too  careful.  And  I  haven't  time 
to  be  sick,  I  tell  you. 

BiRGiT.  To  be  so  full}'  occupied  is  the  greatest  happiness  I 
can  think  of. 

Tygesen.  Yes,  isn't  it?  I  couldn't  live  without  it — no! 
Oh,  they  talk  of  youth  as  man's  happiest  time.  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I'd  care  to  have  it  back  again — with  its  sensuous 
intoxication,  and  folly,  and  vanity,  and  all  sorts  of  nonsense — 
not  for  a  trip  to  China  would  I  go  back  to  it.  Although  I 
must  say  that  I  should  like  very  much  to  make  a  trip  to  China. 

BiRGiT.  But  I  imagine  there  are  plenty  of  women  who 
would  like  to  have  their  youth  back. 

Tygesen.  O — oh!  Well! — There  we  are! — Yes,  youth  is 
woman's  paradise.  A  romance  that  she  lives.  Ball  memo- 
ries, moonlight,  yellow  note-paper.  Ho-ho! — Now  you  have 
condemned  yourself.  Go  into  the  corner  now  and  be  ashamed 
of  yourself. 

KL\REN.  But,  dear! 

Tygesen.  I  am  coming,  I  am  coming! — I  hope  you'll  par- 
don me,  dear  lady !  I  shall  be  delighted  to  have  a  look  at  the 
"Horseshoe"  from  the  inside.  Ever  since  I  was  a  child, 
that's  where  I  have  placed  all  my  adventures.  I'll  speak  for 
the  right  to  spend  a  night  alone  in  the  big  hall  in  order  to 
watch  the  ghost  walk. 

BiRGiT.  That  might  put  an  end  to  it!  Well,  you're  wel- 
come! [As  Tygesen  goes  out,  Birgit  runs  over  to  Karen] 


28  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

With  a  man  like  that  I  shouhi  never  feel  bored !     I  think  he's 
a  dear! 

Tygesen.  [Coming  in  again]  Odessa,  you  know — To  reach 
Odessa  by  the  road  from  the  interior,  as  we  did — to  sit  on  the 
train  with  nothing  but  that  immense  waste  all  around — for 
the  top  of  that  plateau  is  nothing  but  a  desert !  And  then  to 
see  one  mirage  after  another  in  the  distance — the  sea  with 
ships  and  steamers,  whole  cities,  turrets,  domes,  mountains. 
And  it's  nothing  at  all — just  a  mirage!  Can  you  imagine 
anything  more  like —     Yes,  I'll  go  now,  I'll  go  now! 

[He  goes  out. 

BiRGiT,  Isn't  he  too  funny  for  anything? 

Karen.  I  have  made  them  take  out  some  rugs  that  we 
brought  home  from  Asia — you  must  have  a  look  at  them. 
They're  up-stairs.  We  have  turned  the  corridor  up  there — 
and  the  stairway  also — into  a  regular  museum.  Won't  you 
go  up  for  a  moment.-*     I'll  come  up  right  away. 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  I  will. 

Karen.  You'll  find  Malla  there,  and  she'll  tell  you  all 
about  the  rugs. 

BiRGiT.  Malla? — Miss  Rambek,  who  was  like  a  foster- 
mother  to  you? 

Karen.  She  has  be.-?!i  with  us  all  the  time. 

BiRGiT.  Really? 

Tygesen.  [Speaking  jrom  the  study]  Karen! 

Karen.  Just  a  moment — I'll  be  right  back!     [She  goes  out. 

Birgit  remains  standing  on  the  same  spot,  looking  after 

Karen.     Then  she  walks  pensively  up  to  tlie  portrait. 

A  bell  is  heard  ringing  in  the  hall.     After  a  while  it 

rings  again.     Then  it  begins  to  ring  incessantly. 

Malla.  [Conies  running  in]  Yes,  yes,  yes! 

Tygesen.  [In  his  study]  But,  Malla! 

Malla.  [At  the  door  to  the  study]  What  is  it? 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  29 

Karen.  [Also  in  the  study,  speaking  in  a  lowered  voice]  The 
stomach  protector ! 

Tygesen.  [Yelling  at  the  top  of  his  voice]  The  stomach  pro- 
tector! 

JVIalla  utters  a  cry  as  she  rusJies  out  of  the  room.     At 
that  moment  the  hell  starts  ringing  again. 

Malla.  [Comes  hapk,  sevring  a  ribbon  in  the  stomach  pro- 
tector] Yes! — Yes,  here  I  am!     Here  I  am! 

The  door  is  opened  slightly  by  somebody  in  the  room 
beyond. 

Tygesen.  [In  the  study]  Goodness  gracious,  Malla,  I  have 
never  seen  the  like  of  it! 

Karen.  [In  the  study]  Oh,  Malla! 

Malla.  [Handing  the  stomach  protector  through  the  open- 
ing in  the  door  ivithout  looking  in]  Mercy,  it  made  me  quite 
sick! 

BiRGiT.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Malla.  Well,  are  you  here? 

BiRGiT,  [Coming  forward  from  behind  the  portrait]  So  you 
had  forgotten  the  stomach  protector.^     Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Malla.  Yes,  you  may  laugh!  But  I  am  shaking  in  every 
limb —    Well,  it's  about  time  I  said  "how  d'you  do"  to  you! 

BiRGiT.  I  suppose  you  still  remember  me.^  You  used  to 
be  so  nice  to  me  in  those  days.  Yes,  those  were  pleasant 
days. — But  what  in  the  world — I  don't  know  whether  I  dare 
ask ? 

:Malla.  What? 

BiRGiT.  A  little  while  ago  the  landscape  was  ail  smiles — 
and  then  all  at  once 

Malla.  Ssh! 

K\REN.  [Entering]  Oh,  are  you  here?  I  thought  you  were 
up-stairs  looking  at  the  rugs. 


30  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

BiRGiT.  I  stopped  to  look  at  your  portrait.  The  longer  I 
look  at  it,  the  better  it  seems. 

Karen.  That's  what  everybody  says. 
Mall.\  goes  out. 

BiRGiT.  Would  you  care  to  give  me  a  very  great  pleasure, 
Karen? 

Karen.  What  is  it? 

BiRGiT.  While  the  paint  is  drying  in  the  "Horseshoe,"  I 
should  like  to  travel  a  little  and  have  a  look  at  the  country. — 
You  couldn't  come  with  me,  could  you? 

Karen.  I? 

BiRGiT.  As  my  guest,  of  course.  Oh,  we  might  have  a  lot 
of  fun  together.     Just  as  in  the  old  days,  j'ou  know. 

Karen.  You  may  be  sure  I  should  like  to.  I  couldn't 
think  of  a  pleasanter  invitation — but  I  can't  get  away  from 
here. 

BiRGiT.  The  house,  you  mean? 

Karen.  No — but  my  husband  needs  such  a  lot  of  looking 
after.     Ever  since  that  serious  illness 

BiRGiT.  Oh,  has  he  been  ill? 

Karen.  Dreadfully.  And  ever  since  that  time  he  cannot 
be  careful  enough. 

BiRGiT.  But  there  is  nothing  about  him  to  suggest  weak- 
ness. At  least,  he  seems  capable  of  talking  ten  ordinary  peo- 
ple off  their  feet. 

Karen.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Think  of  it!  If  we  two  could  be  to- 
gether once  more  for  a  couple  of  weeks!  And  travelling  be- 
sides ! 

BiRGiT.  Well,  why  shouldn't  we? 

Karen.  He  would  never  permit  me. 

BiRGiT.  Permit?     Have  you  got  to  ask  permission? 

Karen.  Haven't  you? 

BiRGiT.  No!     Otherwise  mv  husl)an(l  would  also  have  to 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  31 

ask  my  permission.     But,  of  course,  we  show  proper  consider- 
ation for  each  other 

Karen.  All  right — this  is  the  consideration  I  owe  my 
husband. 

BiRGiT.  When  he  has  Malla.^  Just  for  a  fortnight — or 
three  weeks.'* 

Karen.  Malla  hasn't  been  strong  lately.  And  her  memory 
is  failing. 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  I  notice  she  is  taking  snuff  for  it. 

Karen.  Oh,  you  have  noticed.^  That's  supposed  to  be  a 
great  secret. 

Malla  enters  at  that  moment.     Birgit  and  Karen  look 
at  her  and  laugh. 

Malla.  Why  are  you  grinning  at  me.?* 

Karen.  Oh,  Malla,  she  saw  at  once! 

Malla.  Lord,  what? 

Karen.  That  you  are  taking  snuff. 

Malla.  [Screaming  and  covering  her  face]  Yes,  isn't  it 
awful!     But  tell  me,  Mrs.  Romer,  how  could  you  see  it? 

Birgit.  I'll  tell  you,  if  you  will  call  me  Birgit  as  you  used 
to. 

Malla.  Indeed,  I  will!  [Holding  out  her  hand  to  Birgit] 
But  I  can't  understand ? 

Birgit.  All  who  take  snuff  secretly  develop  a  peculiar  habit. 

Malla.  Well ! 

Birgit.  When  any  stranger  comes  near  them,  they  do  like 
this  without  knowing  it. 

She  rubs  the  hack  of  her  right  hand  against  her  breast. 

Malla.  [With  another  little  scream]  And  that's  what  I  do! 
Of  course,  I  might  have  spilled  some  on  my  dress!  Oh,  it's 
a  nasty  habit  to  take  snuff.  But  I  thank  my  Lord  it  isn't 
morphine.  And  it's  that  wretch  in  there  who's  to  blame  for 
it. 


32  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Karen.  But,  Malla! 

Malla.  Oh,  if  we  are  to  see  anything  of  each  other,  it's  no 
use  trjung  to  hide  it.  If  she  can  see  one  thing,  she  can  see 
others  as  well. — And  he's  killing  me,  I  tell  you!  I  am  so 
nervous  that  I  begin  to  shake  as  soon  as  I  hear  him.  And  I 
have  lost  my  memory,  too.  And  the  only  reason  is  that  I 
never  have  any  peace.  I  am  too  old  for  this  kind  of  thing, 
and  I  just  can't  stand  it.  If  it  were  not  for  Karen,  I  should 
have  left  here  long  ago.  [Sfie  sits  down  and  begins  to  cry]  I 
don't  have  to  stay  here ! 

Karen.  But,  Malla,  dear! 

[She  throim  herself  on  her  knees  beside  her. 

Malla,  I  have  enough  to  live  on.— But  I  can't  bear  the 
thought  that  Karen  should  be  left  alone  with  him.  Then 
he  would  ruin  her,  too. 

Karen  is  deeply  stirred. 

BiRGiT.  I  see! — And  all  this  is  the  result  of  that  serious 
illness? 

Malla.  I  wouldn't  say  that  exactly.  But  it  was  a  ques- 
tion of  life  and  death  at  the  time — and,  of  course,  his  life  has 
more  than  ordinary  value.  For  months  afterward  he  was 
so  helpless  that  we  had  to  watch  him  every  minute. 

BiRGiT.  And  so  it  became  a  habit? 

Karen.  Of  course,  we  have  ourselves  to  blame  for  it.  We 
should  never  have  let  it  go  so  far. 

BiRGiT.  Listen  to  me,  dear  friends!  Now  both  of  you  will 
have  to  come  with  me  on  a  three  weeks'  trip.  That's  all  there 
is  to  it! 

Malla.  We? 

BiRGiT.  I  was  talking  to  Karen  about  it  a  while  ago.  Then 
I  was  thinking  chiefly  of  myself.  Now  I  want  it  for  your 
sake. 

Kauen.  [Almost  in  a  whisper]  And  liow  tii)(»ut  my  husband? 


ACT!  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  33 

BiRGiT.  [In  the  same  tone]  For  his  sake,  too!  Of  course! 
First  of  all,  for  his  sake !  How  can  you  expect  him  to  discover 
what  you  are  to  him,  when  you  never  leave  him  for  a  moment? 

Malla.  [In  the  same  loay]  How  many  times  have  I  told 
you  so,  Karen? — Oh,  hundreds  of  times,  thousands  of  times! 

BiRGiT.  And  if  he  doesn't  discover  it  during  those  three 
weeks  while  we  are  travelling,  you  had  better  come  and  stay 
with  me  after  we  get  back.     All  you  have  to  do  is  to  wait. 

Karen.  My  husband  mustn't  be  left  alone.  He  could 
never  stand  the  trouble  it  would  give  him. 

BiRGiT.  Let  him  find  out  that  he  can't! 

Karen.  What  good  will  that  do? 

BiRGiT.  What  a  question !  It  will  make  him  come  to  terms, 
of  course? 

Karen.  He?     Never!     He  would  rather  die. 

Malla.  Lately  he  seems  to  have  quite  lost  all  sense.  The 
Lord  only  knows  what's  the  matter  with  him. 

BiRGiT.  This  is  the  time  to  leave  him,  then — just  now! 

Karen.  It  would  be  heartless!  No,  it  won't  do!  Poor 
thing,  he  wouldn't  know  what  to  do  without  us. 

Malla.  I  can  just  see  him  raging  and  roaring  here  all  by 
himself.  And  no  help  to  be  had  anywhere  else! — It  tickles  me 
to  think  of  it! 

Karen.  But,  Malla! — Neither  one  of  you  understands  him. 
It's  liis  nervousness.  That  starts  his  imagination  going,  and 
then  he's  not  himself.  But  it's  all  over  in  a  moment.  And 
at  bottom  he's  a  kind-hearted  soul. 

Malla.  Who  bites!  A  kind-hearted  soul  who  bites! 
Whether  it's  his  imagination  or  himself  that  bites — it  hurts 
just  as  much.  And  then  he's  so  ungrateful.  We  are  doing 
everything  we  can  for  him.  And  the  moment  the  least 
little  thing  goes  amiss,  he  tells  us  to  go  straight  to  hell.  We 
are  in  the  way  then ! 


34  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  acti 

BiRGiT.  Well,  why  don't  you  go? 

Karen.  It  isn't  lack  of  gratitude.  At  other  times  he 
shows  himself  extremely  grateful.  No,  it's  just  impatience. 
We  must  try  to  bear  with  him.  Why,  we  have  some  re- 
sponsibility, too. 

Malla.  Responsibility.?  Yes,  indeed!  We  are  responsi- 
ble— responsible  for  his  losing  his  senses.  We  have  to  do 
all  kinds  of  things  for  him,  but  at  the  same  time  he  wants 
us  to  be  out  of  the  way.  Isn't  that  madness?  If  we  could 
eat  and  sleep  for  him,  he  would  make  us  do  that  too,  but  we 
should  have  to  be  invisible  wliile  we  did  it! — Yes,  you  laugh! 
Do  you  know  that  he  kept  us  on  tenterhooks  for  months  in 
order  to  get  Helga,  his  only  child,  out  of  the  house?  He  left 
us  no  peace.  And  do  you  know  what  was  back  of  it? 
BiRGiT.  What? 

Malla.  He  wanted  her  room  for  his  maps.     That  was  all. 
BiRGiT.  For  his  maps? 

Malla.  For  his  maps.  He  has  maps  in  droves,  and  all  of 
them  mounted,  so  there's  no  longer  room  enough  for  them  in 
his  study.  He  has  taken  the  sitting-room  away  from  us, 
too — that  beautiful  room  looking  out  on  the  garden.  All 
that's  left  to  us  is  this  room  and  the  bedrooms  up-stairs. 
But  the  geography  has  begun  to  creep  in  here,  too.  Just 
look!— In  a  little  while  he'll  have  us  all  cooped  up  in  the  bed- 
rooms, 

Karen.  Yes,  that's  what  he  wants. 

Malla.  That's  exactly  what  he  wants.  But  on  that  point 
at  least  Karen  has  been  firm. 

BiRGiT.  Let  him  liave  the  whole  house.  Move  out! 
Come  with  me! 

Malla.  Think  of  being  free,  Karen — of  breathing  freel\! 
And  to  travel — we  who  have  been  travelling  so  many  years! 
What  do  you  say,  Karen? 


ACT!  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  35 

Karen.  Yes,  if  he  allows  it — but  he  never  will. 

BiRGiT.  You  are  wrong  in  this — absolutely  wrong. 

Karen.  Perhaps. 

Malla.  That's  the  w^ay  she  is. 

BiRGiT.  I'll  speak  to  him  in  your  place — — 

Karen.  He  wouldn't  even  understand.  He  himself  lives 
only  for  his  work. 

Malla.  But  why  don't  you  try.'  Then  he'll  have  to  give 
reasons  at  least  for  not  being  able  to  spare  us.  And  he 
doesn't  like  to  admit  it! 

Karen.  But  not  now — not  just  now 

Malla.  Why  not.' 

BiRGiT.  Isn't  the  portrait  finished? 

Karen.  Yes — but —     No,  not  just  now. 

BiRGiT.  I'll  drop  in  a  little  later  then. 

K,\REN.  Or  I'll  come  for  you.     Where  are  j^ou  stopping? 

BiRGiT.  At  the  Grand  Hotel.     When  can  I  expect  you? 

Karen.  Will  you  be  at  home  this  afternoon? 

Malla.  Why  not  this  morning? 

Karen.  I  expect — well,  I  may  as  well  tell  you — I  expect 
Henniug  at  any  moment. 

Malla.  To-day? 

BiRGiT.  Isn't  he  through  with  it?  The  canvas  has  already 
been  varnished? 

Karen.  He  has  been  waiting  for  the  varnish  to  dry.  Then 
he  can  paint  on  it  again.  And  there's  something  he  w-ants  to 
change. 

BiRGiT.  Then  you'll  come  this  afternoon? 

Karen.  I  will.     And  thank  you  very  much! 

[She  kisses  Birgit  warmly. 

Malla.  And  thank  you  for  wanting  to  have  an  old  thing 
like  me  along. 

Birgit.  But  you  must  come  along! 


36  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Karen,  Malla  is  so  fond  of  travelling. 

Malla.  Yes,  I  am. — What  are  you  looking  for.^ 

BiRGiT.  My  coat.  Oh,  there  it  is. — I  thought  you  were 
still  abroad,  and  here  I  am,  right  in  the  midst  of  you! — 
No,  thank  you,  I  am  not  going  to  put  it  on.  It  has  turned 
quite  warm  again. 

Karen.  Why  don't  you  leave  it  here  till  this  afternoon.' 
Or  I  can  have  it  sent  over  for  j'ou. 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  if  you  would  do  that,  please!  [She  puts  down 
the  coat  again]  Good-by  for  a  little  while! 

Karen  and  Malla  accompany  Birgit  out.     Returning, 
Karen  goes  up  to  tJie  mirror  and  stands  loohing  in  it. 

Malla.  [Coming  in  again]  I  have  my  hands  full,  but  I 
must  say  this  much:  we  haven't  hail  a  \i.sit  like  that  since 
we  moved  in  here. 

Karen.  Yes,  I  agree  with  you  there — at  least. 

Malla.  [Coming  closer]  And  we'll  have  to  agree  on  other 
things,  too! 

Karen.  Malla,  Malla! 

Malla.  Yes,  something  must  be  done!  [The  door-hell  is 
heard  ringing]  It  cannot  go  on  like  tliis! 

[She  goes  toward  the  door. 

Karen.  There  he  is  now! 

Malla.  What  "he"? 

Karen.  Henning.     Don't  you  know  his  ring? 
Malla  goes  out. 

Henning.  [Entering]  Good  morning,  my  lady! 

Karen.  Good  morning!  I  am  sorry  I  couldn't  sit  for  you 
yesterday. 

Henning.  It  didn't  matter.  I  had  other  things  to  do. — 
Who  was  that  pretty  woman  I  met  at  the  door? 

Karen.  Yes,  isn't  she? 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  37 

Henning.  Such  an  intellectual  prettiness.  And  such  style 
— she  doesn't  belong  here,  I'm  sure. 

Karen.  No,  she  has  come  all  the  way  from  Odessa,  and 
there,  of  course,  everything  is  French,  or  else  English.  She  is 
married  to  that  wealthy  fellow,  Romer,  the  grain  dealer. 

Henning.  Oh,  that  flabby  old  chap ! — I  saw  him  at  Trieste 
once.  They  were  living  there.  People  said  he  had  a  young 
wife.  They  said  also  she  was  spending  his  money  pretty 
freely. 

Karen.  She  had  to  amuse  herself  in  some  way,  didn't  she.'' 

Henning.  [With  a  bow]  That's  extremely  pleasant  to  hear. 

Karen.  I  knew  you  would  find  it  so.     That's  why  I  said  it. 

Henning.  And  I  am  duly  grateful.     People  must  have 

some  amusement,  Mrs.  Tygesen.     Everybody  has  a  right  to  it. 

He  arranges  the  easel,  opens  his  paint-box,  selects  some 

brushes,  takes  up  his  palette,  and  begins  to  squeeze  out 

colours  on  it. 

Karen  assumes  her  pose,  leaning  against  the  table  loith 

her  seuiing  things  on  it. 

Karen.  Yes,  I  heard  you  were  amusing  yourself  last  night. 

Henning.  I? 

Karen.  You  were  at  the  theatre  with  two  young  girls. 

Henning.  Oh ! 

Karen.  Would  it  be  impertinent  to  ask  who  they  were.'' 

Henning.  Yes,  it  would.  I  am  very  discreet  in  such  mat- 
ters, Mrs.  Tygesen. 

Karen.  In  such  matters ? 

Henning.  The  most  innocent  matters  in  the  world.  Two 
kittle  girls  who  wanted  a  little  amusement. — But  perhaps  that 
is  not  permissible? 

Karen.  How  did  they  dare  go  to  the  theatre? 

Henning.  They  don't  live  here.  Nobody  knows  them. 
And  that's  all  I  know  about  them. 


38  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  act  i 

Karen.  But  you  know  their  names? 

Henning.  Yes,  their  names,  and  that  they  are  stopping 
at  one  of  the  hotels — ^prohahly  witli  relatives. 

Karen.  Probably? 

Henning.  I  have  never  got  further  than  the  hotel  door. 

Karen.  But  you  have  tried? 

Henning.  Oh,  out  of  politeness  merely. 

Karen.  How  did  you  happen  to  meet  them  at  the  theatre? 
By  appointment? 

Henning.  You  seem  very  much  interested  in  all  this — 
Who  has  been  gossiping? 

EL'iREN.  The  lady  who  left  a  moment  ago. 

Henning.  Oh! — That's  right — she  was  in  the  corner  box 
and  kept  her  glasses  on  us  all  the  time. 

Karen.  You  must  have  been  very  much  occupied  with 
those  girls  not  to  notice  more  the  lady  in  the  corner  box — 
you,  a  portrait  painter!     You  didn't  even  recognise  her. 

Henning.  No,  I  didn't  recognise  her.  Well,  if  I  did  have 
a  little  fun  last  night,  is  there  anything  wrong  in  that? 

Karen.  Have  you  never  thought  of  marrying,  Mr.  Hen- 
ning? 

Henning.  Do  you  think  that  would  be  more  amusing? 

Karen.  Well,  if  not  more  amusing — at  least 

Henning.  At  least ? 

Karen.  After  all,  we  don't  live  merely  for  the  sake  of 
amusement. 

Henning.  I  do  a  little  work  besides,  Mrs.  Tygesen. 

Karen.  Yes,  nobody  could  reach  your  position  without 
having  worked. 

Henning.  And  work  is  amusing.  But  \\]\y  shouldn't  we 
have  a  little  amusement  on  the  side,  too?     Just  a  little — hm? 

Karen.  Pardon  me,  but  I  can't  help  smiling.  And  yet 
— what   vou  call  amusement 


ACT  I  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  39 

Henning.  Speak  out! — Beg  your  pardon — the  head  a  little 
higher — that's  right!  Just  a  Httle  more  to  the  side — that's 
it — thank  you! — What  was  it  you  were  going  to  say,  Mrs. 
Tygesen? 

Karen.  I  don't  remember. 

Henning.  It  was  something  about — what  I  call  amuse- 
ment  .'' 

Karen.  Yes — perhaps  others  have  to  pay  for  it. 

Henning.  Why  so?     They  amuse  themselves,  too. 

Karen.  Yes,  but 

Henning.  But?     You  never  finish. 

Karen.  But  suppose  tJiey  should  take  it  more  seriously? 

Henning.  And  "get  stuck"  in  it,  you  mean? 

Karen.  If  their  feelings  should  be  genuine,  I  don't  think 
it's  nice  to  speak  of  it  as  "getting  stuck  in  it." 

Henning.  The  trouble  is,  Mrs.  Tygesen,  that  these  so- 
called  genuine  feelings 

Karen.  So-called? — Are  there,  then,  no  genuine  feelings? 

Henning.  Oh,  heavens,  I  don't  deny  that  at  all!  On  the 
contrary,  it's  the  very  thing  I  am  looking  for.  In  fact,  I 
am  looking  for  nothing  else. — Although,  perhaps,  that's  put- 
ting it  a  little  too  strong. 

K.\ren.  Yes,  I  think  so,  too. 

Henning.  You  are  not  keeping  still  now. — At  bottom,  how- 
ever, I  was  right  in  what  I  said.  As  long  as  the  feeling  re- 
mains genuine,  it  is  amusing.  When  it  ceases  to  be  so,  I  quit. 
And  that's  where  marriage  begins.  That's  actually  where  it 
begins. 

Karen.  You  are  against  marriage? 

Henning.  Not  more  than  one  marriage  in  a  hundred  is  real. 

Karen.  By  "real"  you  mean  based  on  love? 

Henning.  What  else  could  I  mean? 


40  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  i 

Karen.  But  marriage  moans  somctliing  more  than  being 
in  love.     That's  only  what  it  begins  with. 

Henning.  And  what  is  it  that  follows,  if  I  may  a,sk? 

Tygesen.  [KnteriiKj]  Have  i/nii  been  cleaning  in  my  room 
to-day.^  [He  goes  to  one  of  tfie  long  tables  in  the  rear]  Who  tlie 
devil  has  been  touching  my  papers.^  [Catching  sight  of  Hen- 
ning behind  the  portrait]  Oh,  are  you  there.^  How  d'you  do.' 
So  it  was  you  who  rang  the  bell,  then? 

Henning.  Yes. 

Tygesen.  [Still  looking  for  something  at  the  table]  I  thought 
you  had  finished  it? 

Henning.  When  the  varnish  is  on.  you  always  discover 
something  that  has  to  be  straightened  out. 

Tygesen.  Where  can  that  note  be?  I  fear  I  must  have 
been  careless  enough  to  leave  it  lying  on  my  desk  last  night. 
And  then,  of  course,  it's  gone. 

Karen.  I  haven't  touched  your  desk. 

Tygesen.  But  you  should  sec  that  nobody  else  does,  cither. 

Karen.  I  don't  think  anybody  has. 

Tygesen.  Of  course  not!     Nobody  ever  touches  it. 

Karen.  Goodness  gracious,  dear,  how  can  you  wear  that 
old  dressing-gown? 

Tygesen.  This  one?  Why,  this  is  the  finest  piece  of  clo- 
thing I  possess!     It's  the  emblem  of  my  dignity! 

Henning.  If  you  won't  think  it  impertinent — what  kind 
of  dignity  is  that  the  emblem  of? 

Tygesen.  I'll  tell  you.  It  means  that  I  am  Master  of  My 
Own  Clothes. 

Henning.  That's  quite  a  new  kind  of  dignity. 

Tygesen.  Brand-new! — I  used  to  find  it  imi)ossil)le  to  keep 
my  clothes.  And  that's  what  happens  to  most  married  men. 
The  moment  I  had  grown  really  fond  of  something,  it  would 
disappear.     And  there  would  be  no  appeal.     The  women,  I 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  41 

tell  you,  develop  a  lust  for  power  as  the  years  pass  on — an 
obstinate  tendency  to  intrude  on  matters  not  concerning 
them — which  must  be  checked.  Otherwise  we  can't  even 
keep  our  own  clothes. 

Henning.  Yes,  women  are  always  looking  for  something 
new. 

Tygesen.  Always  something  new.  And  I  have  fought  like 
a  lion  for  this  dressing-gown.  Twice  I  have  fished  it  out 
of  the  rag  basket.  Twice!  And  the  last  time — only  a  couple 
of  days  ago — they  had  actually  begun  to  cut  it  to  pieces — 
confound  them!  Look  here!  I  have  fixed  the  cut — that  is, 
as  well  as  I  could.  Now  I  am  wearing  it  just  to  show  that, 
after  all,  I  am  the  sovereign  ruler  of  my  own  wardrobe.  To 
rule  over  my  own  papers,  that's  more  than  I  can  manage. 
Yes,  my  dear  fellow,  you  smile!     But  just  wait! 

Karen.  I  don't  think  Mr.  Henning  will  find  out.  He's  not 
going  to  marry. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  you  are  not  going  to  marry? 

Henning.  No. 

Tygesen.  Congratulations ! 

Henning.  Thanks! 

Tygesen.  And  they  come  from  a  full  heart  at  that!  A 
man  who  has  something  to  live  for  should  never  marry. 
What  was  it  Goethe  said.* 

Henning.  Can't  remember. 

Tygesen.  Well,  I  can't  either.  But  he  was  speaking  from 
experience. — It  was  something  about  marriage  being  a  seri- 
ous drag. 

Karen.  George  Eliot  didn't  say  that.  Although  she  was 
also  a  great  poet.  And  George  Henry  Lewes  didn't  say  so 
either. 

Henning.  I  have  known  women  who  proved  a  help  to 
their  husbands — as  well  as  the  opposite. 


42  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Tygesen.  In  painting? 

Henning.  Exactly. 

Tygesen.  Well,  there  are  exceptions.  And  let's  give  the 
exceptions  a  chance.  That's  what  I  always  say.  I  have  no 
objection  to  the  emancipation  of  woman.  Let  her  become  a 
minister,  if  she  has  the  ability — and  let  him  take  care  of  the 
children!  If  she's  good  enough  for  the  pulpit,  and  he  isn't, 
what's  the  use  of  making  an  obstacle  of  the  clothes.  Let's 
have  what's  natural  in  everything.  Down  with  all  dogmas ! — 
But  after  all  I  don't  call  that  sort  of  thing  marriage.  The 
relation  between  George  Eliot  and  Lewes  was  one  of  com- 
radeship. 

Karen.  That's  what  I  thought  marriage  should  always 
end  in. 

Tygesen.  But  suppose  it  won't.  Suppose  the  only  inter- 
est a  couple  has  in  common  is  love,  and,  when  they  try 
something  else,  it  won't  go.     What  then? 

Henning.  Yes,  what  then?    There  you  are! 

Tygesen.  And  even  if  it  does  go,  and  their  marriage  turns 
to  comradeship — how  can  you  be  sure  that  will  last  for  life. 
And  if  it  doesn't  last,  what  then? 

Henning.  Yes,  what  then? 

Tygesen.  Besides — why  can't  we  get  that  comradeship  in 
some  more  economical  way  than  through  marriage?  .Vt 
the  time  when  marriage  became  an  institution,  nothing  was 
known  about  the  division  of  labor. 

Henning.  Ha,  ha! 

Karen.  How  you  talk! 

Tygesen.  Some  poet  who  was  married  said  once  that  he 
carried  his  home  on  his  back  like  a  snail.  And  the  fool 
meant  it  as  a  praise  of  marriage! — When  I  meet  one  of  my 
colleagues  on  the  street — one  of  the  married  ones,  I  mean — I 
always  raise  my  hat  twice:  once,  t)pt'iily  and  respcrl fully,  for 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  43 

the  man  himself;  and  once,  secretly  and  in  pity,  for  his  hump! 
— No,  I  must  look  in  my  study  again.  [He  goes  out. 

Kaken  leaves  the  table  where  she  has  been  standing. 

Henning.  Won't  you  pose  a  little  longer,  Mrs.  Tygesen.'* 
[She  doesnt  answer]  ^Vhat  is  it.^ — I  hope  you  don't  pay  any 
attention  to  these  little  notions  of  your  husband's.  He  is 
very  fond  of  picturesque  exaggerations,  as  you  know. 

EIahen.  I  know.  And  he  often  has  spells  like  this,  espe- 
cially when  he  is  overworked — I  know.  But  neverthe- 
less  ! 

Henning.  But  why  weep  in  silence — when  one  knows  as 
well  as  you  do  how  to  retort? 

Karen.  I  can't  any  longer.  There  is  something  in  me  that 
revolts  against  it!  And  lately  he  has —  No,  I  won't  say 
anything!  And  I  won't  cry  either. — Forgive  me!  I  am 
ashamed  of  myself. 

.  After  a  little  while  she  resumes  Iier  previous  position  at 
tfie  table. 

Henning.  You  may  weep  with  the  right  eye,  if  you  want 
to.     But  I  am  at  work  on  the  left  one. 

Karen.  Ha,  ha! — I  don't  know  what  you'll  think  of  me 
who  can  laugh  and  cry  all  at  once.  But  that's  the  way  I 
have  felt  lately. 

She  bursts  into  tears  again  and  goes  away  from  the  table. 

Henning.  But,  Mrs.  Tygesen ! 

Karen.  Yes,  I  act  as  if  I  were  not  well — and  yet  I  am. 

Henning.  Try  to  think  of  something  else!  Just  for  a 
moment! — Then  the  rest  will  be  easy.  We'll  think  out  some- 
thing that's  "amusing."     You  know  we  can  do  that. 

Karen.  Oh,  soon  there  is  nothing  left  that's  amusing. 

Henning.  How  about  the  summer.^ — Summer  will  soon  be 
here. 


44  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Karen.  Yes,  for  those  that  can  enjoy  it.  But  we  cannot. 
We  haven't  even  the  sitting-room  left. 

[She  begins  to  cry  again. 

Henning.  But  you  are  almost  as  nervous  as  your  husband, 
Mrs.  Tygesen. 

Karen.  Yes,  I  am.  I  can't  help  it.  And  it's  silly. — But 
I  will  try  now! 

Henning.  Yesterday  I  stood  looking  at  the  hills  around 
here,  and  all  at  once  I  was  seized  with  a  mad  desire  to  travel. 
Just  for  a  fortnight,  I  said  to  myself.  And  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  moment. 

Karen.  The  lady  you  met  coming  in  has  made  up  her 
mind  about  the  same  thing. 

Henning.  Has  she? 

Karen.  And  now  she  is  looking  for  company. 

Henning.  And  you  think  she  and  I  might  go  together.' 

Karen.  No!     Ha,  ha!     You  two  can't  go  alone. 

Henning.  Why  don't  i/om  be  the  third  one?     Can't  you? 

Karen.  No,  not  even  the  three  of  us  could  travel  alone. 
You  know  that  very  well.  To  tell  the  truth,  she  has  invited 
me  to  go  with  her. 

Henning.  But  that's  splendid!  You  do  need  a  trip. 
We'll  pick  out  a  fourth  one.  Somebody  that's  dreadfully 
serious-minded.  Just  think  of  it,  to  spend  two  or  throe  weeks 
taking  in  some  of  the  prettiest  views  in  the  country!  Wouldn't 
that  be  amusing? 

Karen.  Yes,  it  might  be. 

Henning.  And  now,  Mrs.  Tygesen,  I  think  we'll  stop. — 
Thank  you ! — [Karen mores  about]  It  might  be.you  say?  Well, 
it  depends  on  yourself.  "To  will— that  is  the  trick." — There 
now!  I  think  I'll  consider  myself  done  with  it. — Can  you 
make  out  what  I  have  been  doing? 

Karen.  No — yes,  I  think  I  can 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  45 

Henning.  You  smile?     What  were  you  going  to  say? 

K-AJiEN.  What  I  have  said  before :  that  the  woman  on  the 
canvas  looks  fresher  and  younger  than  the  original. 

Hexning.  And  my  answer  will  be  to  put  them  side  by  side 
before  the  mirror.  [He  turns  the  easel  around]  Come  now ! 

Kaken.  [Approaching]  But  ?/om  must  get  away  from  there ! 

Hentsting.  I?  Won't  you  let  me  look?  I,  who  have  stood 
in  such  close  relationship  to  one  of  them  at  least? — Do  you 
see  that  you  look  younger  and  fresher,  Mrs.  Tygesen? 

Kaeen.  Oh,  there  goes  Birgit  now! 

Henning.  Birgit  who? 

Karen.  Mrs.  Romer, 

Henning.  Oh — !  Yes,  I  see  now.  Tell  me — don't  you 
think  I  might  introduce  myself?  And  propose  a  travelling 
route — a  common  route,  you  know?  Not  more  than  that  to 
begin  with — of  course!  [He  grabs  his  hat]  I  have  a  good 
notion  to  do  it!     What  do  j'ou  say? 

Karen.  Well,  why  shouldn't  you? 

Henning.  I'll  send  somebody  to  take  away  all  that  stuff. 
Good-by  for  a  while,  Mrs.  Tygesen!  Pardon  me,  but  I've 
got  to  hurry!  [He  runs  out. 

Karen.  I  must  watch  that  meeting!  [She  goes  to  the 
window  and  becomes  aware  of  Birgit's  coat]  Oh,  I've  forgot- 
ten her  coat.  I'd  better  send  it  over  while  I  think  of  it. 
[She  picks  up  the  coat  and  looks  out  of  the  window]  No,  he 
hasn't  caught  her.     I'll  have  to  run  up-stairs  to  see. 

She  starts  to  run  toward  the  door  in  the  rear;  the  coat 
sweeps  a  lot  of  notes  and  stones  off  one  of  the  tables,  so 
that  they  fly  all  over  the  floor;  Karen  utters  a  cry. 

Tygesen.  [Appearing  in  the  door  to  his  study]  I  thought  I 
heard —  But  it  couldn't  be  possible — [He  comes  a  little  way 
into  the  room]  Well,  I'll  be — !  [Catches  sight  of  Karen,  who  is 


46  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

frenziedly  trying  to  pick  up  the  notes  from  the  floor]  Have  you 
gone  clear  out  of  your  head? 

Karen.  Oh,  I  just  happened 

Tygesen.  Happened? — How  could  anybody  "happen"  to 
do  things  like  that?  Is  it  your  intention  to  drive  me  out  of 
the  house? 

Karen.  No,  indeed;  I'd  rather  go  myself. 

Tygesen.  You? — Where  could  you  go? 

Karen.  You  mean  I  have  nowhere  to  go? 

Tygesen.  I  mean  you  should  leave  my  things  alone.  ^Vhy 
can't  you  move  up-stairs  and  stay  there?  You  ought  to  un- 
derstand that  if  you  can't  help  me  you  might  at  least  keep 
from  bothering  me.  Don't  you  know  I  am  behind  with 
several  issues?  I'm  on  pins  and  needles!  And  yet  you  find 
out  some  new  way  every  day  to  hamper  me! — What  did  you 
have  to  do  here  anyhow? 

Karen.  I  only 

Tygesen.  Yes,  tears,  of  course! — Oh,  leave  it  alone! — 
Give  it  to  me!  I'll  pick  it  up  and  put  it  right.  You  can't 
do  it  anyhow.       [She  rises,  and  he  goes  down  on  his  knees. 

Karen.  Don't  you  want  me  to  help  you? 

Tygesen.  Please  get  out  of  here. — Damn  the  women! — 
If  I  could  only  understand  how  such  a  thing  could  happen! 
— Could  it  possibly  be — ?  [Rising]  Karen! 

Karen.  [Who  in  the  meantime  has  gone  reluctantly  toward 
the  door]  Yes.  [She  returns  to  him. 

Tygesen.  How  did  this  happen? 

Karen.  I  was  in  a  hurry,  and  I  had  the  coat  on  my 
arm 

Tygesen.  Why  should  you  be  in  a  hurry? 

ICaren.  Because —      Well,  what  does  that  matter? 

Tygesen.  You  were  hurrying  to  get  another  look  at 
Henning? 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  47 

Karen.  Now ! 

Tygesen.  Why  did  he  have  to  come  here  to-day  again? 

Karen.  Just  to  hear  how  brutal  you  can  be! 
Tygesen  glowers  at  her. 

Karen.  You  have  acted  Hke  that  every  time  he  was  here. 

Tygesen.  And  you  have  gone  stark  mad  since  he  came  into 
the  house. 

Karen.  No,  that's  too  much!     I  am  not  going  to  stand  it! 

Tygesen.  What.'' — This  is  something  entirely  new! 

Karen.  Yes,  unfortunately,  it  is!  For  until  now  I  have 
borne  with  everything.  You  don't  make  the  least  attempt 
to  control  yourself.  You  insult  Malla  and  me  constantly. 
And  you  do  it  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  But  you  have 
done  it  once  too  often. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  go  to  the  devil ! 

Karen.  WTiat's  that?— All  right,  I'll  go! 

Tygesen.  You  go?     Away  from  here? 

Karen.  Yes. 

Tygesen.  Do  you  mean  to  frighten  me? — Oh,  go,  by  all 
means ! 

K.\REN.  Are  you  in  earnest? 

Tygesen.  Am  I  in  earnest?  No,  I'm  not.  But  I  don't 
want  to  be  treated  too  high-handedly. 

Karen.  Yes,  now  you  have  had  your  fling!  And  now  it's 
to  be  all  right  again.  But  this  time  it  wont  be  all  right 
again.     It  is  going  to  be  serious !  [She  goes  out. 

Tygesen.  What  in  the  world  does  she  mean?  Is  she 
going?  Karen!  Where.^ — Karen! — What's  all  this?  Ever 
since  that  damned  painter — !  But  I  can't  imagine —  And 
yet  she  seemed  to  mean  it.  I  have  never  seen  her  like  that. — 
And  she  looked  as  pretty  as — [Calling  up  through  the  hall] 
Karen ! — Karen ! 

Karen.  [Upstairs]  What  do  you  want? 


48  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Tygesen.  What  are  you  doing  up  tlicre,  Karen? 

Kahen.  I'm  packing  my  trunks. 

Tygesen.  What  do  you  mean  by  all  this.''  You'd  better 
explain. 

Karex.  All  right,  I  will. 

Tygesen.  I  wonder  if  Karen  can  have  some  place  to  go  to? 
But  I  can't  let  her  bluff  me  like  that!  [Karen  com<?s  ?'/(]  What 
is  all  this?  Where  are  you  going?  Do  you  take  me  for  a 
child  whom  you  can  scare? 

Karen.  I'll  tell  you  just  how  it  is.  Birgit  Romer  is  going 
to  take  a  trip  through  the  country  around  here — and  she  has 
asked  me  to  come  with  her. 

Tygesen.  Birgit  Romer?  Who  was  standing  here  looking 
so  sweet — !  The  treacherous  thing!  But  you  don't  mean 
to  say  that  you ! 

Karen.  At  first  I  said  no.  But  after  the  way  you  have 
just  behaved — yes,  now  I  am  going  to  do  it.  And  I  have 
hundreds  of  reasons  for  doing  it. 

Tygesen.  You  mean  to  go  away  from  me? 

Karen.  For  a  couple  of  weeks — yes. 

Tygesen.  And  I  forbid  you,  my  dear! 

Karen.  Well,  that  won't  help  3^ou  much. 

Tygesen.  Oh?  Do  you  think  there  is  nothing  like  law 
and  justice?  You  think,  of  course,  that  I  won't  dare  to  call 
in  the  police?  Oh,  yes,  I'll  dare!  I  won't  mind  the  scandal! 
I'll  telegraph  all  'round  the  country  to  stop  you ! 

Karen.  Pooh! 

Tygesen.  Are  you  pooh-ing  at  the  police? 

Karen.  Do  you  think  I'm  such  a  fool  that  you  can  make 
me  believe  the  police  will  prevent  me  from  packing  my  trunks 
and  going  where  I  please?  [She  goes  toward  the  door. 

Tygesen.  Karen! 
Karen  stops. 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  49 

Tygesen.  You  can't  dare  to  do  such  a  thing!  And  you 
won't  do  it.  That's  right,  isn't  it?  You  won't  do  it?  It 
would  be  wrong!  And  you  are  only  trying  me — to  see  if  I 
care.  Do  you  want  me  to  say  so?  Yes,  I  do  care!  I'll  be 
wretched  if  you  go  away.  What's  going  to  become  of  me? 
I  never  thought  you  could  have  such  notions,  Karen.  It's 
all  wrong,  what  you  are  doing  now —  But,  then,  you  have 
been  drifting  away  from  me  lately— you're  outside.  Yes, 
that's  just  the  word :  you're  outside.  Outside  that  invisible 
circle,  that  community  of  righteousness  which  used  to  bind 
us  together.  The  people  living  within  it  never  misunder- 
stand each  other.  And  you  put  a  false  construction  on 
everything.  You  don't  hear;  you  don't  see;  you're  living  in 
another  world.  Something  foreign  to  us  both  has  lured  you 
away.  Something— something— something — you  are  speak- 
ing to  me  from  the  outside.  You — you — you  wont  any 
longer;  you're  rebellious;  you're  defiant.  Yes — as  you  are 
standing  there  now — you  have  no  regrets:  you're  accusing 
me — you're  full  of  pride!  It's  more  than  I  can  forgive  you! 
— You  can  go!     And  forget  that  I  asked  you  to  stay! 

[He  rushes  into  his  study. 

Kaken.  [Goes  out  hito  the  hall  and  is  heard  to  say  outside] 
Now  he  has  driven  me  out.     Now  I  will  go. 

Malla.  [Is  heard  to  answer]  What  were  you  saying? 

Karen.  [Farther  away]  I  am  going  up-stairs  to  pack. 

Malla  enters  and  at  the  same  moment  Tygesen  returns 
from  his  study. 

Malla.  What  have  you  been  up  to  now? 

Tygesen.  [Flying  at  her]  It's  your  fault!  You've  been 
goading  her  on!  And  if  you  don't  bring  her  back  to  me  at 
once — then  you'd  better  look  out! 

Malla.  I  bring  her  back  to  you?  Don't  you  believe  it 
— you  tyrant! 


50  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Tygesen.  How  dare  you ? 

Malla.  Yes,  now  I'm  going  to  speak  up  for  once,  too. 
I  thouglit  you  a  man  of  culture.  For,  of  course,  those  that 
write  books  are  supposed  to  know  most  about  culture.  But 
of  all  people,  they're  the  worst.  They're  a  lot  of  nervous 
overworked  creatures  who  never  know  how  to  control  them- 
selves. May  the  Lord  protect  and  preserve  everybody  from 
getting  married  to  any  one  who  writes  books. 

Tygesen.  Amen! — The  deuce  you  say!  And  to  me,  who 
have  borne  with  you  beyond  all  demands  of  reason ! 

Malla.  You!     Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Tygesen.  Will  you  get  out  of  here! 

Mall,\.  The  Lord  knows,  I  will!  But  not  until  I  have 
pestered  you  a  little.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you  noM'— although 
you've  nearly  killed  me. 

Tygesen.  There  seems  to  be  plentj'  of  life  in  you  now! — ■ 
She's  raving  mad! 

Malla.  I  only  wish  I  could  make  you  suffer  for  all  that 
you've  done  to  Karen  and  me — you  monster! 

Tygesen.  Am  I  a  monster?  Well — well,  if  ever — !  Do 
you  know  what  I  am?  The  nicest  husband  in  this  town — as 
sure  as  I  live! 

Malla.  No,  you're  the  worst  of  the  whole  lot !  You  should 
sign  yourself  "T.  T." — "Tygesen:  Tyrant." 

Tygesen.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Nero,  Henry  the  Eighth,  Blue- 
beard, and  Jack  the  Ripper  in  one!     That's  me.  isn't  it? 

Malla.  Do  you  know  what  you  have  made  of  me? 

Tygesen.  Nothing  d  la  Jack  the  Ripper ? 

Malla.  No,  not  quite.     But  look  at  this! 

Tygesen.  Well,  I'll  be  hanged!    Taking  snuff! 

Malla.  And  right  under  your  nose,  too.  For  it's  your 
fault. 


ACT  I  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  51 

Tygesen.  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha!  So  I've  made  snuff  of  you! 
Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Malla.  And  you've  come  mighty  near  making  a  drug  fiend 
of  me.  But  now  I'll  leave  here  before  I  get  that  far.  And  I 
am  taking  Karen  with  me. — Then  you  can  have  it  all  to 
yourself !— Good-by ! 

Tygesen.  Oh,  go  to  hell! — I  mean  it  literally! 

Malla.  I  don't  doubt  it  for  a  moment.  Good-by!  [She 
goes  to  the  door,  and  stops  there]  God  protect  and  preserve 
everybody  from  people  who  write  books!  [She  goes  out. 

Tygesen.  [Staiids  still  for  a  moment,  then  running  to  the 
door]  And  everybody  who  writes  books  from  crazy  females! 
[Comes  forward;  then  he  runs  back  to  the  door  again]  Especially 
foster-mothers!  Of  the  kind  that  take  snuff! — I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  let  them  have  the  last  word!        [He  goes  into  his  study. 

Malla.  [Returning,  is  puzzled  for  a  moment  at  not  finding 
him]  Oh,  I  see!  [Runs  to  tJic  study  door]  Especially  from  peo- 
ple who  write  geographies !  [She  goes  out  as  before. 

Tygesen.  [Appearing  after  a  while]  I'll  be  hanged  and 
quartered  if  I  let  her  have  the  last  word!  [He  rushes  to  the  door, 
where  he  is  met  by  Ane]  Are  you  running  off,  too? — Well,  good 
luck! — Clean  house — hurrah!  So  you've  put  your  heads  to- 
gether to  embarrass  me?     But  that's  where  you'll  be  fooled! 

Ane.  Madam  told  me  to  ask  you  what  we're  going  to  have 
for  dinner? 

Tygesen.  What  we're  going  to — ?  Am  I  to  tell — ? 
Oh — !  I  see! — Nothing!  I'll  go  out  to  eat.  I'll  go  to  a 
restaurant.  Turman  is  boasting  every  day  of  his  meals — 
For  once  I  also  will  eat  like  a  man  owning  his  own  soul! 

Ane.  Nothing  for  dinner,  you  say?  That  won't  be  much 
— for  me. 

Tygesen.  No,   it   won't — that's   right.     Here's   a   crown. 


52  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  acti 

Then  you  can  buy  yourself  some  dinner,  too.  We'll  have  a 
holiday,  you  and  I! — So  you're  going  to  stay,  Ane? 

Ane.  Well,  why  shouldn't  I? 

Tygesen.  Fine!  Why  shouldn't  you?  There's  another 
crown!  Oh,  you'll  see,  Ane,  that  we'll  get  along.  Now  I 
want — well,  what  was  it  I  wanted.'  I  can  do  just  what  I 
please ! — I'll  go  out !  I  guess  it's  no  use  trying  to  work  to-day. 
But  I'll  do  so  much  the  more  to-morrow.  No  trouble  to 
fear — alone  from  morning  till  night — and  the  whole  house  to 
myself!  You  can  go  out,  too!  Just  enjoy  yourself,  Ane! 
We  two  are  having   a  holiday.  [He  goes  out. 

Curtain. 


ACT  II 

The  same  room  as  in  Act  I.  Tall  frajties  covered  with  maps 
are  placed  all  over  the  room,  but  in  such  a  way  that  it 
is  possible  to  pass  between  them  and  that  the  stairway  re- 
mains visible  in  the  background.  Piles  of  folded  maps 
occupy  the  floor  at  the  left. 

Tygesen.  [In  his  study]  xlre  you  there? 

Ane.  [In  front  of  the  door]  Yes. 

The  door  opens  a  very  little  and  an  arm  is  reached  out  to 
take  something  handed  over  by  Ane. 

Tygesen.  The  coffee  was  abominable. 

Ane.  Well,  when  it  has  to  be  kept  from  seven  till  ten 

Tygesen.  Why  the  deuce  didn't  you  make  some  fresh .^ 

Ane.  I  was  going  to,  but  you  kept  ringing  and  ringing  till 
I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing. 

Tygesen.  [Still  behind  the  door]  Oh,  fudge! 

TuHMAN.  [Coming  forward  from  behind  the  maps]  How 
goes  it  with  him,  Ane.^ 

Ane.  Oh,  I  guess  he's  all  right.     He's  mad  enough,  at  least. 

TuRMAN.  Hasn't  he  got  up  yet? 

Ane.  Yes,  he's  got  that  far  at  last.  Of  course,  he's  got  to 
sleep  in  the  morning  when  he  doesn't  sleep  at  night.  He's 
gone  daft,  I  think. 

TuRMAN.  What  do  you  mean  by  that? 

Ane.  Well,  I'm  scared  of  him.     He's  sneaking  around  here 
in  felt  slippers,  trying  all  the  doors.     And  all  of  a  sudden  he's 
53 


54  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  actu 

right  behind  me  in  the  kitchen,  and  me  not  having  heard  him 
come.  He  upsets  me  so  I  drop  all  I  have  in  my  hands.  Once 
he  came  into  my  room  at  two  in  the  morning.  He  was  stand- 
ing right  over  me.  Since  then  I  have  kept  my  door  locked. 
But  I've  heard  him  trj-ing  to  get  in  several  times.  And  I  can 
hear  him  on  the  stairs,  and  all  night  long  he's  opening  the 
doors  one  minute  and  shutting  them  again  the  next. 

Tubman.  That's  the  same  story  you've  told  me  every 
day,  Ane. 

Ane.  I  don't  know  what  I  am  doing  any  longer.  Sure, 
and  I  don't!  The  way  these  three  days  and  nights  have 
taken  it  out  of  me.  All  there  used  to  be  of  it  was  that  he 
came  before  he  came.  First  we'd  hear  him,  and  then  it 
wasn't  him.  Then  we  heard  him  again,  and  it  was  him.  But 
now  it's  him  night  and  day,  and  no  end  to  it,  either. 

TuRMAN.  And  I  see  he's  got  up  his  fences. 

Axe.  That  was  yesterday.  We  had  to  drag  out  maps — 
loads  and  loads! 

TuRMAN.  And  you've  begun  to  put  them  up? 

Ane.  Yes,  and  no  ladder!  It  went  broke  at  once,  and  so 
I  had  to  take  it  to  the  blacksmith.  But  he  couldn't  wait  till 
we  got  it  home  again.  Not  him!  Then  the  frame  wasn't 
steady  enough,  and  so  we  had  to  put  hooks  in  the  ceiling — 
and  me  most  breaking  my  neck  doing  it! — Oh,  tell  me,  pro- 
fessor, won't  the  missis  be  home  again  soon.^  Is  it  going  to 
be  like  this  for  long?  What  d'you  hear  from  her? 
■  Tubman.  No,  I  won't  tell  a  thing. — Ditl  you  ever  hear  the 
old  tale  about  "the  man  who  was  going  to  stay  home  and 
keep  house"? 

Ane.  Oh,  him  there  is  worse'n  that!  And  if  there  isn't  a 
change  pretty  quick,  I'll  go,  too. — He's  begiiiiiiug  to  get  dan- 
gerous, I  tell  you! — Once  he  was  g»)ing  round  lure  with  a  big 
knife.     It  must  have  been  the  carving-knife,  for  I  haven't 


ACT  11  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  55 

seen  it  since.  And  sometimes  he's  talking  out  loud  unrl 
carrying  on  as  if  the  place  was  full  of  people. 

Tubman.  That's  what  we  call  imagination,  Ane. 

Ane.  What  kind  of  a  disease  is  that.'* 

Tygesen.  [In  his  study]  Are  you  talking  to  somebody? 

Ane.  Professor  Turman  is  here. 

Tygesen.  [Still  outside]  I  didn't  hear  him  ring.  Then  the 
street  door  must  be  open  again. 

Ane.  My!     Now  he  got  on  to  that,  too!         [She  hurries  out. 

Tubman.  [At  the  study  door]  Well,  how  goes  it,  Tygesen? 

Tygesen.  [Coming  out  with  the  dressing-goicn  in  one  hand, 
so  that  it  trails  after  him  on  the  floor]  She's  a  dangerous  one, 
that  woman.  I  might  be  robbed  and  murdered  in  my  own 
house.  Would  you  believe  it?  She  knows  a  lot  of  tough- 
looking  fellows.  And  they  come  here  sniffing  and  spying 
around. 

Turman.  Do  you  want  me  to  help  you  with  the  dressing- 
gown? 

Tygesen.  The  dressing-gown?  Oh,  is  that  what  I  got 
hold  of?— Well,  that  wasn't  what  I  wanted  at  all.  I  am  sick 
and  tired  of  it  since  there's  nobody  here  to  get  mad  about  it. 
[He  hurls  the  dressing-gown  into  the  study;  then  he  goes  into  the 
study  himself,  returning  a  moment  later  with  a  coat]  You  know 
— she's  so  confoundedly  careless  about  fire.  There's  a  glow 
in  the  stove  as  late  as  one  and  two  in  the  morning.  I  as- 
sure you!  I  have  seen  it  myself.  She  isn't  quite  right  either. 
Once  I  saw  her  with  the  carving-knife.  She  was  making 
passes  with  it.     Now  I've  put  it  away. 

Turman.  You've  given  up  your  morning  walks,  Tygesen. 
I  do  think  they  did  you  good. 

Tygesen.  I'm  arranging  my  time  differently  now,  seeing  I 
can  dispose  of  it  as  I  please. — But  that  girl  scares  me.  I 
can't  feel  safe  in  my  own  house.     You  see,  here  I  am  alone 


56  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  n 

with  her.  AVhy  should  she  let  in  all  those  people?  Why 
doesn't  she  keep  the  doors  locked?  Why  does  she  keep  the 
fire  going?  Do  you  think  she  means  to  rob  the  house  first 
and  set  fire  to  it  afterward? 

TuRMAN.  Yes,  some  morning  when  I  come  here,  the  house 
will  be  burnt  down,  and  I'll  have  to  look  for  you  in  the  ashes. 
But  if  I  were  you,  I'd  try  to  make  friends  with  Ane.  She's 
the  only  one  you  have. — I  just  dropped  in  to  tell  ^•()U  that  I've 
something  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about.  But  I'll  have  to 
give  a  lecture  first.     Will  you  be  at  home  in  an  hour  or  so? 

Tygesen.  What  is  it?  Anything  unpleasant?  I  can't 
stand  anything  of  that  kind  now. 

TuRMAX.  Are  you  not  feeling  well,  Tygesen? 

Tygesen.  Perfectly  splendid!  Never  better  in  all  my  life! 
—More  fit,  more —     Have  you  seen  my  maps? 

TuRMAN.  It's  going  to  look  like  a  sort  of  castle,  I  should 
say. 

Tygesen.  That's  what  it  is.  My  castle!  Never  to  be  con- 
quered.    The  place  is  mine  now. 

Tubman.  Yes,  if  you  can  keep  it,  Tygesen 

Tygesen  stares  at  him. 

Tubman.  WTiat  maps  are  those? 

[He  goes  vp  to  them  to  look. 

Tygesen.  [Joining  hitn  eagerly]  I  saw  them  first  at  the 
Geographical  Congress  in  1875 — at  Paris,  you  know.  They 
created  a  tremendous  sensation  at  that  time. 

TuRMAN.  Yes,  you've  told  me  about  them.  [He  reads  as  If 
translating]  "Imperial  Russian  Topographical  Bureau." 

Tygesen.  They're  already  out  of  date  now.  I  have  hung 
them  up  just  to  show  what  progress  we  have  made  since  then. 
Wait  a  moment!  [He  picks  up  a  paper-covered  volume  having 
the  shape  of  a  large-sized  atlas]  These  are  nothing  but  my  own 
scrawls — all   the   corrections   that   have   become   necessary. 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  57 

First,  corrections  made  by  Nordenskjold  in  the  North — look 
here,  for  instance!  [He  searches  the  volume  for  the  map  in 
question]  Then,  corrections  by  Kropotkin  in  Eastern  Siberia. 
You  know — Kropotkin? 

TuRMAN.  The  socialist? — Or  nihilist  rather,  I  suppose? 

Tygesen.  a  great  scientist,  I  tell  you!  He  was  exiled  to 
Eastern  Siberia,  and  no  sooner  was  he  there  than  he  dis- 
covered the  country  to  be  quite  unlike  the  descriptions  of  it, 
both  geologically  and  topographically.  Look  here — at  these 
long  mountain  ranges,  Yablonoi  Khrebet 

TuRMAN.  The  "Apple-tree  Range" 

Tygesen.  And  Stanovoi  Khrebet — the  "backbone." 

TuRMAN.  The  "backbone"- — exactly! 

Tygesen.  He  has  reduced  them  to  table-lands — look  at  it ! 
—full  of 

TuRMAN.  Well,  I  haven't  time  now.  I  only  looked  in  to 
make  sure  of  you  later.  It's  impossible  to  count  on  finding 
you  in  any  longer.     You've  grown  so  elusive,  Tygesen. 

Tygesen.  I  have  my  liberty,  you  see.— But  can't  you  stay 
a  moment?  Can't  you  take  breakfast  with  me?  I  am  so 
lonely ! — I'll  bring  up  a  bottle  of  old  Medoc. — I  wanted  to  tell 
you  something  about  Polyarco's  crossing  of  the  Stanovoi 
plateau.  He  had  an  escort  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  men, 
and  they  were  lost  in  desert  wastes,  where  they  starved  and 
went  through  the  most  dreadful  sufferings.  Some  died,  and 
some  were  eaten  by  the  survivors.     It's  a  thrilling  story. 

TuRMAN.  I  don't  want  to  be  thrilled  now.  I  am  going  to 
lecture. 

Tygesen.  To  an  audience  of  one? 

TuRMAN.  No — I  have  two  now! 

Tygesen.  Then  they  can  keep  each  other  company  wait- 
ing.    Or  we  might  send  word  to  your  two  Assyrians,  calling 


58  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  actii 

ofT  the  lecture.  What  do  you  say?  Ane  might  march  to 
Nineveh! 

Tubman.  No,  I  think  I  had  better  march  myself.  And  I 
have  never  yet  called  off  a  lecture. — You're  such  an  irregular 
fellow,  Tygesen,  and  you  have  learned  that  from  the  women 
folks.     Good-by!  [Goes  out. 

Tygesen.  [After  him,  disappearing  among  the  maps]  Why 
don't  you  have  breakfast  with  me  when  you  come  back?  I'll 
wait  for  you.     Please!     I'll  get  something  nice  for  you. 

TuRMAN.  [7*  heard  to  ansiver]  No,  thanks!  I  don't  want 
to  spoil  my  dinner.     You  see,  I  keep  regular  hours. 

Tygesen.  [Comes  into  sight  again,  looking  very  depressed] 
He  keeps  regular  hours!  And  he  doesn't  even  notice  that 
I'm  hungry  for  company — that  I  can't  work — that  I  just  want 
to  drown  myself  in  talk.  He  has  no  perception  at  all,  the 
brute!  His  hide  must  be  at  least  an  inch  thick,  not  counting 
the  layer  of  fat  beneath  it.  "You  have  learned  that  from  the 
women  folks,"  he  said.  The  prig!  [The  bell  rings  outside] 
There  now!  I  bet  it's  some  more  of  Ane's  friends.  What 
does  she  want  with  all  those  suspicious-lot)king  people?  Lis- 
ten to  it — starting  on  a  gossip  at  once !  What  the  devil  has 
she  to  talk  of? — Hm!  That's  a  woman — I  wonder  who 
that  can  be? — I  believe —  Really,  it  must  be — [Calling 
out]   Helga! 

Helga.  [Still  hidden  by  the  maps]  Yes. 

Tygesen.  Nothing  plcasanter  could  have  happened  if  I  had 
scoured  land  and  sea  in  a  fairy  boat  looking  for  it!  [He  pulls 
her  out  from  behind  the  maps;  she  is  carrying  a  bag]  My  dearest, 
darling  girl!  [He  embraces  her,  walhs  her  a  few  steps  back  and 
forth,  and  then  embraces  her  agai?i]  Welcome!  You're  as  wel- 
come as  if  you  had  my  geography  in  your  bag,  finished — as  if 
you  made  me  a  present  of  it,  all  finished. — There's  some  weight 
to  this  bag,  for  that  matter. 


ACTn  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  59 

Helga.  Yes,  I  have  books  in  it. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  you  have? — So  you  are  still  working  hard? 
That's  fine! — Now  we'll  put  it  down  here. — But,  Helga,  you 
are  quite  a  grown-up  ladj- !  And  you've  grown  very  pretty, 
too. — Do  you  know  what  we'll  do.^  We'll  have  breakfast 
together.  And  we'll  bring  up  a  bottle  of  old  Medoc !  Hurrah! 
Now  we'll  have  some  fun!  [He  rings. 

Helga.  Where's  mother.^ 

Tygesen.  [Ringing  and  ringing]  Your  mother — ?  [Rings 
again;  Ane  enters]  Bring  in  breakfast!  For  Helga  too! 
Something  good — something  tremendoush^  good !  And  here's 
the  kej^ —  Although  I  don't  know —  Do  you  know  where 
that  old  Medoc  is  kept.^ 

Ane.  That  one  you  had  last  night,  professor.'* 
Tygesen.  Oh,  she  noticed  that,  too! — No,  I'll  go  myself— 
He  takes  a  hunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket  and  goes  to  the 
stairway,  lohere  he  unlocks  the  door  leading  to  the  cellar. 

Ane.  [Following  him]  But  I  can  go 

Helga.  [Following  also]  Yes,  Ane  can  go 

Tygesen.  Oh,  well — go,  then.  [Ane  disappears]  We'll  stay 
here. 

Helga.  Of  course! 

Tygesen.  To  the  right.  The  rack  to  the  right — the  bot- 
tom shelf. 

Ane.  [In  tJie  cellar]  Yes,  I  know! 

Tygesen.  She  knows  it!  She  notices  everything!  She's 
a  sly  one ! 

Ane.  [Coming  up  with  the  bottle]  Here  you  are,  sir. 
Tygesen.  [Locking  tlie  cellar  door  again]  I'll  open  it.  [He 
opens  the  bottle]  Now  we'll  be  happy  and  not  think  of  any- 
thing but  what's  in  our  glasses. 
Helga.  Where's  mother,  dad.' 

Ane,  on  her  way  out,  stops  to  listen. 


60  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  act  u 

Tygesen.  [To  Ane]  WTiy  do  you  stop?  [Ane  disappears] 
Oh,  mother — you  ask  where  mother  is?  Your  mother,  dear 
— she's  gone  to  the  country. 

Helga,  Mother ? 

Ane  pokes  aid  her  head  from  behind  the  maps. 

Tygesen.  [To  Ane]  Can't  you  get  out  of  here?  [Ane  dis- 
appears again]  Do  you  know,  Helga,  I'm  afraid  of  that 
woman?     There's  something  crafty  about  her. 

Helga.  About  Ane? — No,  dad!  She's  absohitely  straight 
and  reliable 

Tygesen.  Ane?  You  don't  know  anything  about  human 
nature,  my  girl. 

Helga.  But  how  about  mother?  You  say  she's  in  the 
country?  And  she  hasn't  been  out  to  see  me — hasn't  said  a 
word  to  me  about  it. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  merely  for  a  couple  of  days,  you  see.  Ivord ! 
she  hasn't  got  to  report  to  you  that  she's  going  to  do  a  little 
travelling. 

Helga.  Is  she  going  to  travel? 

Tygesen.  Your  mother  has  been  travelling  for  twelve 
years.  So  why  should  you  object  to  her  travelling  just  now? 
[He  takes  a  look  behind  the  maps]  Are  j'ou  still  there?  [lie  comes 
forward  again]  She's  a  horrible  person,  I  assure  you.  Can't 
you  see  that  on  her  face? 

Helga.  If  I  were  you,  I  should  be  nice  to  Ane. 

Tygesen.  So  that's  what  you  say,  too? 

Helga.  You  say  that  mother  has  been  travelling  for  twelve 
years — but  that  was  with  you.  Never  alone.  And  she  has 
gone  away  without  sending  word  to  me.  Was  it  as  sudden 
as  all  that? 

Tygesen.  There  was  a  friend  of  hers  who  dropijcd  down 
from  the  skies  and  carried   her  off.     I5ut,   of  course,   vour 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  61 

mother  will  be  back  in  time  to  visit  you  next  Sunday  as 
usual. 

Helga.  Next  Sunday? — That's  to-day! 

Tygesen.  Is  it  Sunday  to-day? — That's  Ane's  fault.  I 
always  change  my  underwear  on  Sundays. 

Helga.  I  can't  understand.     Where  is  she  gone? 

Tygesen.  Didn't  you  hear?  A  childhood  friend  of  hers, 
Birgit  Romer,  came  and  carried  her  off. 

Helga.  The  one  who  owns  the  "Horseshoe"? 

Tygesen.  Exactly.  And  I  don't  know  where  they  have 
gone.  Nor  does  it  matter.  They  have  their  liberty,  haven't 
they?  Norway  is  quite  a  big  country,  and  travelling  in  Nor- 
way is  very  interesting.  Especially  the  West  Coast  is  re- 
markable in  its  originality.  If  they  should  take  the  road 
through 

Helga.  Has  mother  gone  as  far  as  the  West  Coast? 

Tygesen.  I  didn't  say  that.  I  don't  know  anything  about 
it. — No,  of  course,  they  haven't.  That's  too  far.  But  let 
us  leave  all  that  to  them.  And  let's  wish  mother  a  really 
nice,  enjoyable  trip.  Don't  you  think  we  should?  [Ane 
conies  in  with  the  breakfast]  Now  we'll  eat  breakfast.  I  am 
awfully  hungry.  And  here's  the  Medoc!  Glasses?  Oh, 
here  they  are.  [To  Helga]  Take  off  your  hat,  girl,  and  come 
and  sit  down! — Push  the  table  further  out  in  the  room.  I 
can't  sit  on  the  sofa  when  I'm  eating. — That's  it! 

Helga.  What's  the  meaning  of  all  these  maps,  dad? 

Tygesen.  The  meaning  of  them —  You  can  go,  Ane,  if 
everything's  ready. — Their  meaning,  my  child — it's  that  I  am 
in  Asiatic  Russia  just  now,  and  Asiatic  Russia  has  been  pre- 
sented to  us  in  a  horribly  confused  and  contradictory  manner. 
I  must  have  them  right  before  me,  quite  clearly,  all  these  in- 
tricate lines  that  are  changing  all  the  time. — Now  you  go. 


62  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  ii 

Ane! — Many  of  them — most  of  them — are  nothing  but  guess- 
work.    You  understand,  don't  you? 

Helga.  Not  quite. — But  haven't  you  heard  from  mother 
since  she  left? 

Tygesen.  From  mother?  There  you  go  again!  Your 
mother  will  write  when  she —  Wait  a  moment!  [He  runs  be- 
hind the  maps,  but  returns  at  once]  No,  she  wasn't  there  that 
time. — How  can  you  tell  me  that  I  should  make  up  to  one 
like  her!' — I  assure  you,  Helga,  she's  outright  dangerous. 
And  crafty,  I  tell  you!  And  then  she  knows  such  a  lot  ot 
peculiar  people.     I  never  feel  safe,  day  or  night. 

Helga.  Of  course,  you  can  never  know  who's  in  the  room 
with  you,  when  all  these  big  frames  are  standing  around. 

Tygesen.  What's  that  you  are  saying?  I  can  never  know 
who's  in  the  room  with  me —  You're  right.  You  are  most 
terribly  right!  I  shall  have  to  keep  the  key  to  the  street 
door  myself.  And  it  must  not  be  possible  to  open  that  door 
from  the  inside  except  with  a  key. 

Helga.  But  then  you'll  have  to  go  down  and  open  it  your- 
self every  time  somebody  rings. 

Tygesen.  That's  it!  Now  you've  said  it!  That's  the 
big  prol)lem!  If  I  could  only  act  as  janitor  myself. — But 
nobody  knows  what  kind  of  people  that  woman  lets  in  during 
the  day — people  that  may  come  out  at  night.  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  a  lot  of  ghosts  around  me. 

[He  runs  behind  tfie  maps  again,  returning  at  once. 

Helga.  But  is  it  absolutely  necessary  to  have  those  maps 
here,  dad?     Does  mother  want  them? 

Tygesen.  Listen  now,  Helga!  You  are  a  sensible  girl,  and 
you  will  understand.  When  I  am  working,  I  have  to  think 
of  a  thousand  things  all  at  once.  And  then  the  point  is:  to 
see  it,  to  have  it  right  before  me,  that  very  moment.  One 
remembers,  and  yet  one  doesn't  cjuite  remember.     And  that's 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  63 

where  the  danger  lies!  One  must  never  rely  on  one's  own 
memory!  Do  you  understand?  I  am  sure  you  understand! 
And  then  it  gives  such  a  comfortable  sense  of  elbow-room, 
being  able  to  walk  through  the  whole  house  with  nothing 
but  my  geography  in  sight.  All  around  me  nothing  but  what 
I  have  to  be  thinking  of.  On  every  side  this  undisturbing 
sameness. — Come  on  now,  Helga!  I  am  ravenously  hungry! 
[He  moves  her  bag]  That's  heavy.     What  is  there  in  it? 

Helga.  Books. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  yes ! — But  why  do  you  bring  books  with  you 
to  the  city? 

Helga.  We  have  been  exchanging  them — I  and  another 
girl.     That's  why  we  came  in. 

Tygesen.  Can  you  get  into  the  libraries  to-day? 

Helga.  Yes,  if  they  know  you 

Tygesen.  Sit  down! — That's  it! — Now  we're  going  to  be 
really  cosey. — As  you  show  no  intention  of  beginning — I'll 
help  myself,  if  you'll  excuse  me. 

Helga.  Where  is  Malla? 

Tygesen.  With  your  mother. 

Helga.  Malla,  too ? 

Tygesen.  Heavens,  Helga,  why  don't  you  start? 

Helga.  Thank  you,  I  have  just  eaten.  But  I'll  have  a 
few  drops  of  wine. 

Tygesen.  Yes,  the  wine  is  splendid! — One  advantage  of 
travelling  is  that  you  learn  to  pick  your  wine. — Here,  then: 
to  your  welcome,  Helga! 

Helga.  Skoal !  ^ 

^SMl,  pronounced  "  skoal,"  is  the  word  used  by  all  Scandinavians  in  carrying  out 
the  solemn  rite  of  imbibation — a  rite  requiring  that  nobody  raise  his  glass  to  his 
lips  without  giving  everybody  else  present  a  chance  to  do  so  at  the  same  time. 
The  word  means  "  bowl,"  but  has  come  also  to  get  the  meaning  of  a  "  toast."  It 
corresponds  to  the  German  "  Prosit  "  or  "  Gesundheit,"  the  French  "  A  votre  sanle," 
and  the  English-American  "  Here's  to  you." 


64  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  actii 

Tygesen.  Mm,  but  that's  wine!— Lately  I  have  had  such 
a  craving  for  wine.— You  must  eat  something,  Helga. 

Helga.  No,  thank  you,  I  can't. 

Tygesen.  Well,  tell  me  a  story  while  I  am  eating. 

Helga.  Tell  a  story— I."  That  would  be  still  more  im- 
possible. 

Tygesen.  Something  that  has  impressed  you.  Something 
you  have  heard  or  read.  Something  you  have  come  to  care 
for. 

Helga.  I  don't  know  of  anything. 

Tygesen.  I  am  sure  you  do! — You  needn't  be  bashful 
with  me.  Of  course,  we  have  never  talked  much  together, 
but  that's  your  own  fault,  Helga.  Have  a  little  more  wine, 
and  it'll  come. 

Helga.  Thanks — I  can't  stand  that  nuich,  dad! 

Tygesen.  Oh,  yes,  you  can!  Skoal!  And  once  more, 
Helga,  welcome!  [Both  drink]  You  seem  like  a  new  girl  to  me. 

Helga.  And  you,  too,  dad — that  is 

Tygesen.  What  do  you  mean,  girl?     Don't  I  look  well.* 

Helga.  Oh,  yes! — No,  I  meant — you're  so  nice. 

Tygesen.  And  that's  quite  a  novelty? 

Helga.  Oh,  not  at  all— ha,  ha!  But  you  never  seemed 
to  care  for  me. 

Tygesen.  [Wistfully,  taking  her  hand]  I  have  been  so  busy. 
And  you  shouldn't  misunderstand  it.— Well,  haven't  you  a 
story  to  tell  me? 

Helga.  If  you  really  want  it— there  is  something  lluil  lias 
made  an  impression  on  me. 

Tygesen.  Let's  hear!     Oh— let's  hear  it! 

Helga.  A  little  love  story. 

Tygesen.  Fine!  Just  the  thing  for  your  age!  Don't  be 
bashful  now!     Let's  have  it! 

Helga.  Well -once  they  had  a  winter  picnic  in  this  city. 


ACT  11  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  Co 

and  went  sleigh-riding.  They  used  to,  you  know.  They 
drove  out  to  some  place  and  had  a  fish  dinner.  But  they 
brought  the  wine  with  them  from  the  city.  And  I  suppose 
they  do  that  still. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  yes! 

Helga.  There  must  have  been  something  like  fifty  sleighs, 
with  a  lady  and  a  gentleman  in  each  of  them. 

Tygesen.  That's  the  way. 

Helga.  And  then  the  couple  in  one  of  the  sleighs 

Tygesen.  Hm,  hm! 

Helga.  He  had  on  a  fur  coat  and  a  fur  cap,  and  she  also 
had  on  a  fur  coat  and  a  fur  cap,  and  they  were  talking  and 
laughing  all  the  way.  That  is,  he  was  talking  all  the  time, 
and  mostly  about  foreign  countries.  And  when  they  arrived 
and  went  to  dinner  those  two  sat  down  together. 

Tygesen.  Of  course. 

Helga.  And  then,  while  all  the  rest  of  the  people  at  the 
table  were  talking  and  shouting — he  got  more  and  more  en- 
thusiastic as  he  kept  telling  her  about  the  old  Germans. 

Tygesen.  About  the  old  Germans.^  That's  funny!  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  make  love  to  her. 

Helga.  I  guess  he  meant  to.  But  that  was  his  way.  He 
began  with  the  old  Germans. 

Tygesen.  I  never  heard  the  like  of  it!  Why  not  with 
Adam  and  Eve.'* 

Helga.  He  told  her  there  used  to  be  two  kinds  of  Germans 
— eastern  and  western.  The  western  ones  were  the  Franks, 
the  Saxons,  the  Frisians,  and  the  Germans  in  England. 

Tygesen.  Quite  right!  The  Franks,  the  Saxons,  the  Fris- 
ians, and  the  Germans  m  England — that's  fine,  Helga!  So 
you  know  all  that? 

Helga.  The  eastern  Germans  were  the  Scandinavians  and 
the  Goths. 


CG  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  n 

Tygesen.  The  Scandinavians  and  the  Goths?  That's  not 
the  usual  classification.  But  it's  the  right  one. — Skoal. 
Helga!  Splendid!  [They  drink]  Three  cheers  for  the  Scan- 
dinavians and  the  Goths! 

Helga.  And  a  tiger! — They  were  a  restless  lot,  he  said; 
it  was  they  that  made  the  whole  world  restless.  They  were 
conquerors,  and  vikings,  and  emigrants.  They  were  like  the 
rivers  in  the  countries  where  they  lived — which  always  come 
down  with  a  roar.  And  the  Scandinavians  and  Goths  poured 
themselves  frothing  and  foaming  into  other  races  just  as  their 
rivers  pour  into  the  ocean. 

Tygesen.  Fine!  By  heavens,  it's  just  as  I  should  have 
said  it  myself. — Perhaps  you're  not  my  daughter"  for  noth- 
ing. 

Helga.  Oh,  it  was  he  that  said  it.  It  isn't  mine.  And 
that  same  restlessness  was  in  him,  too,  he  said.  He  wanted 
to  get  out — he  must  get  away  from  here.  And  he  said  it  so 
that  the  spirit  of  it  caught  her,  too,  and  without  thinking  of 
it,  she  cried:  "I  want  to  go  with  you!" — And  afterward  she 
felt  ashamed  of  herself,  of  course,  but  then  it  was  too  late, 
for  then  they  had  already  become  engaged.  I  can  see  that 
you  have  heard  of  it  before,  dad.^ 

Tygesen.  Well,  bless  my  soul,  child— if  you  aren't  sitting 
there  and  telling  me  the  story  of  my  own  engagement!— I 
had  clean  forgotten  all  that  about  the  Scandinavians  and 
the  Goths. — How  did  you  find  out  about  it? 

Helga.  Mother  told  me. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  she  did? 

Helga.  The  last  Sunday  she  came  out  to  see  me.  A  week 
ago  to-day,  that  was.  She  recalled  it  so  perfectly  that  in 
some  places  she  could  repeat  what  you  said  word  by  word. 
And  you  have  forgotten  it? — You  spoke  of  Alaric — the  one 
who   took   Rome,   you   know.     His   name   means   the   "all- 


ACTn  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  67 

ruler,"   and   it's   the  same  as   our  Alrek.     And   Theodoric, 
that's  our  Thidrek. 

Tygesen.  And  that — your  mother  has  remembered  all 
that? 

Helga.  Can't  you  hear  from  what  I  am  telling  you,  that 
she  has  remembered  it? — Here's  to  mother,  dad ! 

Tygesen.  Here's  to  her! 

[He  drinks,  then  he  covers  his  face  with  his  hands. 

Helga.  But  what  is  it,  dad? 

Tygesen.  Nothmg.  The  light  was  hurting  my  eyes. 
Now  I  remember  it,  too.  What  a  day  that  was — what  a 
happiness! — I  had  forgotten  how  I  boasted  of  the  Scandi- 
navians and  the  Goths.  At  that  time  I  was  young:  and  my 
faith,  my  future,  my  love — all  was  in  that  boast! — And  then 
the  ride  home — oh,  that  ride  home!  That's  what  I  remember 
best  of  all.  Then  she  became  mine.  Oh,  I  knew  she  would 
— I  knew  it  when  I  tucked  the  robe  around  her. — She  was  so 
soft  and  snuggly!  And  she  was  smelling  of  some  kind  of 
perfume — I  had  been  drinking  it  in  all  the  time  at  the  table 
— it  was  like  new-mown  hay — I  had  never  smelled  the  like  of 
it  before.  And  I  took  plenty  of  time  getting  her  tucked  up. 
She  was  going  to  be  mine  during  that  ride  home.  Nobody 
else  in  the  world  knew  it — but  I  knew — and  she  knew! — And 
good  Lord,  how  beautiful  she  looked! 

Helga.  Mother  looks  beautiful  still. 

Tygesen.  Everybody  says  .you  don't  take  after  your 
mother.  And  yet  there  is  something  of  her  about  you,  as 
you  sit"  there  looking  at  me. — Skoal,  Helga!  Your  health! 
And  thank  you ! 

{They  drink  again,  and  he  is  evidently  much  moved. 

Helga.  Now  I  can't  stand  another  drop. 

Tygesen.  Neither  can  I. — But  now  all  those  things  come 
pouring   in   on   me!     Your   presence    is    making    me   young 


68  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  acta 

again —    One  moonlight  night  we  were  sitting  on  deck,  your 
mother  and  I,  as  we  were  crossing  the  Mediterranean 

Helga.  You  were  crossing  the  Mediterranean? 

Tygesen.  That  was  not  long  afterward.  For  we  were 
married  at  once,  and  then  we  went  abroad.  She  was  only 
sixteen.  A  moonlight  night  on  the  Mediterranean — we  were 
going  to  Algeria. 

Helga.  Lord! 

Tygesen.  All  the  stars  were  out.  As  I  look  back,  it  takes 
hold  of  my  imagination  like  some  old  legend.  The  love  of 
youth  is  older  than  all  the  legends,  and  it  has  created  most 
of  them.  We  sat  there  and  talked  of  just  such  a  legend — one 
of  the  most  beautiful — the  legend  of  Hero  and  Leander.  It 
lies  spread  all  over  Southern  Europe,  as  the  stars  are  spread 
over  the  sky  on  a  night  like  that;  and  it  has  the  same  blue 
background.  The  love  of  youth,  the  attraction  of  one  human 
being  for  another,  has  never  been  imaged  more  magniBcentiy, 
has  never  been  given  a  more  wonderful  setting.  Two  conti- 
nents meet  in  that  legend.  The  lover  swims  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  makes  his  goal,  but  only  to  die  in  the  arms  of  his 
beloved  the  moment  he  arrives.  What  a  limitless  abandon 
there  is  in  their  longing!  The  tale  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  in 
letters  made  of  stars ! — That's  what  we  were  talking  of — we 
who  were  still  in  the  first  intoxication  of  our  own  love,  and 
who  were  travelling  besides — travelling  among  all  that's 
great  and  beautiful  in  the  Old  World,  in  the  realms  of  ever- 
lasting sunlight.  No  other  moment  could  ever  compare  with 
that  one.  That  was  our  Midsummer  Day.  And  with  the 
next  one —  No  sooner  did  I  think  of  it  than  it  grew  dark 
within  me  and  around  me.  The  sea  looked  like  a  grave,  or 
like  a  sorrow — a  sorrow  that  took  such  a  holtl  of  me  that  it 
seemcfl  as  if  I  should  have  to  end  my  life  then  and  there. 
Then  she  bent  down  over  me.     She  took  niv  head  l)etween 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  69 

her  two  hands,  and  looked  straiglit  into  my  ej'es — and  her 
look  was  like  a  cure  for  all  ills.  Then  she  said — oh,  she  was 
nothing  but  a  child  herself — but  she  said — ■ — 

Helga.  What  did  she  say? 

Tygesen.  She  said 

Helga.  What  is  it,  dad.'' 

Tygesen.  I  can't ! 

Helga.  Mercy! — [Rising]  Wliere  is  mother.? 

Tygesen.  I  don't  know. 

Helga.  You  don't  know?     But,  dad! 

Tygesen.  You  misunderstand !  As  I  have  told  you,  she's 
away,  travelling. — You  upset  me! — She'll  tell  you  everything 
when  she  comes  back — ^or  she'll  write  to  you.  Great  Scott! 
You  don't  doubt  my  word,  do  you?  That's  the  way  it  is,  I 
assure  you! — Sit  down  again!  Why  couldn't  you  let  me  be? 
I  was  dreaming.  And  you  tore  my  dream  to  pieces.  Too 
bad!  For  the  past  often  turns  the  present  into  something 
new. — But  why  don't  you  sit  down  again?  Are  you  afraid 
of  me? 

Helga.  [Seating  herself]  No. 

Tygesen.  Now  it's  all  gone.  In  place  of  youth  and  sun- 
light— nothing  but  disappointment  and  trouble !  Nothing  but 
strife,  and  hatred,  and  stupid  and  unworthy  people! — Oh,  I 
know  it's  foolish.  I  know  that  the  purpose  of  life  is  not 
pleasure.  And  youth's  way  of  looking  at  it  is  a  snare. — But 
it's  of  no  use!  When  that  unbearable  darkness  descends  on 
me,  then  life  is  a  fright  and  a  plague — oh ! 

Helga.  Tell  me  more  instead !  It  was  so  wonderful — oh, 
so  wonderful!— Skoal!  [They  drink]  What  kind  of  a  legend 
was  that?     The  one  you  told  about?     It  was  gorgeous! 

Tygesen.  Don't  you  know  the  story  of  Hero  and  Leander? 

Helga.  No. 


70  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  act  ii 

Tygesen.  Are  you  not  studying  mythology? — Or  Shake- 
speare, for  that  matter! — In  your  leisure  time,  at  least? 
Young  girls  are  always  reading  things  on  the  sly.  Haven't 
you  even  read  about  it  that  way?     What  do  you  read? 

Helga.  Oh,  we  read  more— I  don't  know  what  to  call  it — 
more  modern  things. 

Tygesen.  More  modern — novels? 

Helga.  Ye-es.     Novels,  too. 

Tygesen.  Too?     Do  you  read  anything  but  novels? 

Helga.  Oh,  serious  things  also — things  we  can  learn  from. 

Tygesex.  As,  for  instance? 

Helga.  For  instance — well,  geography,  for  instance. 

Tygesen.  You  read  geography?     In  your  free  time? 

Helga.  Oh,  with  illustrations,  you  know! 

Tygesen.  Why,  here's  the  bag!  That's  right!  Let  us  see 
what  kind  of  books  you  borrow? — I  suppose  it  can  be  opened? 

HeL/GA.  But  that  wouldn't  do,  dad.  It's  something  of  a 
secret,  don't  you  know? 

Tygesen.  Oh,  secrets!  I  thought  so!  You  rascals — 
you're  eating  forbidden  fruit!  I  know  you. — How  the 
dickens  do  you  open  this  bag? 

Helga.  You  mustn't,  dad!  You  mustn't  open  it!  You 
have  no  right  to  do  so!  I  can't  believe  that  you  will  use 
the  right  of  the  stronger  against  little  girls  like  us — will  you? 
You,  who  are  so  highminded? — No,  I  am  holding  on  to  the 
bag — yes,  I  am!  And  just  imagine,  dad,  that  there  are 
twenty-four  hands  doing  the  same  as  mine.  All  of  them 
are  holding  on  to  it.  Then  you  can't  open  it,  can  you? 
You  would  only  misunderstand.  Yes,  I  know  you  would! 
Did  I  say  "secrets"?  That  wasn't  what  I  meant.  I  meant 
— ha,  ha!  Really,  I  think  I  ha<l  too  nnich  wine! — No,  no, 
dad,  let  me  have  the  bag!  Two  of  us  girls  brought  it  in.  We 
were  going  to  excliange  the  books,  and  it  was  my  turn  to  carry 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  71 

the  bag.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  me,  you  know — 
the  books  are  not  for  me.  But  there  are  books  among  them 
that  I  am  not  to  let  anybody  see.  I  don't  know  why,  but 
that's  what  they  said.  It's  a  shame  you  won't  trust  me. 
[She  is  on  the  verge  of  crying]  Oh,  dad,  you  were  so  nice 
a  while  ago! — You  would  Jbe  the  first  one  to  take  our  side  if 
anybody  else  tried  to  do  that.  Yes,  you  would — I  know 
you!  Suppose  the  whole  senior  class  was  in  a  room,  and 
had  locked  the  doors,  and  some  man  tried  to  break  in!  Oh, 
you  would  make  him  ashamed  of  himself,  and  drive  him  away 
— oh,  yes,  you  would !  But  now  you  are  doing  exactly  like 
that  man. 

Tygesen.  What  eloquence,  Helga — and  what  excitement! 

Helga.  No,  I  am  not  excited.  It  isn't  mine —  Yes,  it 
does  bother  me  that  other  people's  secrets  can't  be  safe  with 
me.     [She  begins  to  weep]  Oh,  don't,  dad ! 

Tygesen.  The  more  you  say,  the  more  I  feel  justified  in 
opening  the  bag — so  it  seems  to  me,  at  least. — Let  go  now! 
[He  opens  the  bag]  Now,  let's  see!  They  look  as  if  they  had 
been  read  a  lot.  French — hm — hm.^  "Cruelle  Enigme" — by 
Bourget.  Isn't  that  story  a  little — I  don't  know  how  to  put 
it.  Can't  you  give  me  a  nice  word  for  it.''  You  had  such  a 
number  of  them  a  moment  ago. — Now  we  had  better  be 
friends  again,  or  I'll  think  that  this  is  your  own  concern. 
"  Cruelle  Enigme" — isn't  it  a  little — well? 

Helga.  Realistic,  you  mean  perhaps.'' 

Tygesen.  Yes — realistic.  I  suppose  you  are  the  only  one 
out  there  who  really  knows  French? 

Helga.  Among  the  girls,  yes^  But  I  think  that  book 
comes  from  our  French  teacher —  But  you  mustn't  tell 
anybody ! 

Tygesen.  "Cruelle  Enigme" — -"cruel  riddle" — what  kind 
of  riddle  is  that? 


72  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  acth 

Helga.  Oh,  I  have  heard  them  talk  of  it.  I  think  it's  the 
riddle  of  human  nature.     Of  course,  I  don't  know. 

Tygesex.  Of  human  nature?  One  part  that  is  spiritual, 
and  another  that  isn't — is  that  what  it  means? 

Helga.  Something  like  that. — But  it  isn't  right,  what  you 
are  doing  now,  dad ! 

Tygesen.  Oh,  you  don't  think  so? — Here's  one  named 
"  Equal  freedom  for  women  and  men."  What  kind  of  freedom 
is  that?     That's  not  a  novel,  I  should  say. 

Helga.  I  wonder  if  it  isn't  philosophy?     It  sounds  like  it. 

Tygesen.     Does  that  also  come  from  the  French  teacher? 

Helga.  No.  That  is,  I  don't  know  whose  it  is. — No,  dad, 
stop  now! 

Tygesex.  All  good  things  are  three.  "Autour  du  Mariage, 
par  Gyp"?     That's  a  funny  name  for  an  author. 

Helga.  They  tell  me  she  belongs  to  the  nobility — a 
duchess,  I  think. 

Tygesex.  A  duchess?  Of  course!  At  the  very  least! 
"Autour  du  Mariage" — "around  marriage."  What  does  that 
mean? 

Helga.  I  don't  understand  at  all. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  you  don't? — But  don't  you  think  that's  a 
queer  kind  of  geography.^ — With  illustrations!  Or  perhaps 
that  comes  further  down  in  the  bag?  Eh?  [Helga  remains 
silent]  Did  it  occur  to  you,  my  girl,  that  you  ought  to  tell 
nothing  but  the  truth? 

Helga.  For  Heaven's  sake,  dad,  when  it  isn't  my  secret! 
Those  are  not  my  books. 

Tygesen.  But  how  in  the  world  did  you  come  to  tell  me 
you  were  reading  geography?  With  illustrations?  Tell  me 
that! 

Helga.  We  do  read  geography  also. 

Tygesen.  Between  lessons? — Thai's  a   fine  kind  of  geo- 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  73 

graphical  narrative! — Frankly  speaking — as  you  know  geog- 
raphy to  be  your  father's  subject,  it  shows  impertinence  to 
call  that  sort  of  thing  geography. 

Helga.  No,  dad,  it  shows  nothing  but  lack  of  imagination. 

Tygesen.  [Smiling]  Don't  misunderstand  me! — Ha,  ha, 
ha! — If  I  laugh,  it  doesn't  mean  that  I  forgive  you. — Ha,  ha, 
ha! — What  I  have  just  discovered  hurts  me.  It  hurts  me  a 
great  deal.     For  it  means  that  you  lie! 

Helga.  But,  dad — lie.' 

Tygesen.  I  said  that  you  lie!  Indeed,  I  did.  What  else 
can  it  be  called.'' 

Helga.  What  do  you  mean  by  lying.'' 

Tygesen.  Trying  to  deceive  one's  own  father.  Think 
only — one's  own  father!  It  indicates  practice.  Nobody 
would  begin  with  her  own  father.  Even  I  understand  that 
much.     Although  I  have  never  lied. 

Helga.  But,  dad! 

Tygesen.  You  think  I  exaggerate.' — Well,  suppose  instead 
that  I  had  been  deceiving  you,  my  own  child.  To  deceive 
one's  own  child — how  would  that  be.'  One's  own  child — to 
deceive  one's  child 

Helga.  Mercy,  dad,  where  is  mother.' 

Tygesen.  Your  mother.' 

Helga.  Why  have  mother  and  Malla  left  you.^  What  are 
you  hiding  from  me.'     What  has  happened.'     Dad!     Dad! 

Tygesen.  Yes,  I  have  been  hiding  something. 

Helga.  I  knew  it  at  once.  But  it  must  be  worse  than  I 
thought.     Heavens,  dad,  what  is  it.' 

Tygesen.  No,  don't  get  scared!  Something  happened 
that  made  us  quarrel,  and  so  they  left  me,  both  your  mother 
and  Malla.  That's  all.  But  that's  enough!  I  didn't  have 
the  courage  to  tell  you  when  you  came,  because  it  made  me  so 
happy  to  see  you.     I  didn't  know  how  to  tell  you.     Probably 


74  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  actii 

your  mother  feels  that  way,  too,  as  you  haven't  heard  from 
her  yet.  She  doesn't  know  how  to  tell  you. — It  has  taken 
all  the  spirit  out  of  me.  I  can't  get  a  thing  done.  I  feel 
like  a  criminal.  Won't  you  make  her  come  back.'  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  go  to  the  utmost  corners  of  the  earth  for  her. — 
Turman  knows  where  they  are,  although  he  won't  tell.  Get 
hold  of  him!  He  can't  refuse  to  tell  you! — Please  make  her 
come  back!  I  am  sure  you  can  make  her  do  what  you 
want. — And  won't  you  stay  here  now,  Helga? 

Helga.  Without  mother.''  Not  if  you  begged  me  on  your 
knees!     Not  if  you  killed  me  for  it,  either! 

[She  puts  on  her  hat. 

Tygesen.  But,  Helga! 

Helga.  Well,  if  you  can't  get  along  with  mother,  then 

[She  begins  to  cry. 

Tygesen.  What  are  you  saying,  girl? 

Helga.  Without  you  and  mother — without  mollicr  and 
you — there's  no  meaning  in  anything!— Oh,  what  a  dreadful 
thing! 

Tygesen.  Yes,  it's  a  dreadful  thing  for  all  of  us — for  my 
geograph3%  too! 

Helga.  Well,  there  will  be  nobody  to  disturb  you  now. 
Good-by!  [She  picks  up  her  bag  and  goes  out. 

Tygesen  remains  alone  for  a  little  while;  he  sits  down. 

Turman.  [Appearing]  How  goes  it,  Tygesen? 

Tygesen.  [Jumping  to  his  feet]  Did  you  ring?  W.us  the 
street  door  open? 

Turman.  Helga  and  Ane  were  standing  in  the  doorway 
talking.     And  so  I  went  in. 

Tygesen  gives  him  a  look;  then  he  seats  himself  again. 

Turman.  The  picture  I  now  behold  reminds  me  very  much 
of  Marius  seated  amidst  the  ruins  of  Carthage.     No,  it  makes 


ACT  11  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  75 

my  thoughts  wander  back  to  the  old  Assyria.  You  remind  me 
of  the  goddess  Ishtar,  Tygesen,  when  she  was  languishing — 
atta  lu  mutema  lu  assatka. — Well,  I  can  light  my  pipe  in  here 
now,  since  you've  become  a  bachelor,  can't  I? — What  a  sigh! 
Poor  thing,  is  it  suffering? — Well,  I  told  you,  Tygesen,  that 
you  couldn't  stand  this  kind  of  thing.  Only  strong  people 
like  myself  can  undertake  to  live  alone;  not  the  kind  of 
fellows  that  have  once  been  under  female  tutelage.  With- 
out women  those  poor  fellows  become  as  miserable  as  Ishtar 
was  without  a  man.  She  went  up  to  the  gods,  and  she  went 
into  the  nether  world — up  and  down  she  went!  And  it 
didn't  help  her  in  the  least.  You,  too,  Tygesen,  are  one 
moment  in  the  uppermost  regions,  and  the  next  one  in  the 
nethermost — without  the  least  avail. 

Tygesen.  I  have  been  giving  it  a  lot  of  thought  these  last 
days — and  at  night,  too.     I  mean  that  Ishtar  myth. 

TuRMAN.  It  means  the  dog-days,  old  chap. 

Tygesen.  Yes.  But  it  goes  deeper  than  that.  All  of  us 
want  to  draw  water  from  the  well  of  life.  Of  course!  But 
the  more  we  get,  the  more  we  want.  The  highest  natures 
demand  most — find  it  hardest  to  be  satisfied.  That's  the 
horrible  thing:  that  those  who  have  advanced  farthest  grow 
most  impatient,  most  unhappy!  That's  the  tragedy  of  the 
race,  Turman — its  tragedy. 

Tubman.  Do  you  really  feel  as  bad  as  all  that,  Tygesen.? 
Tygesen  gives  him  a  look. 

Turman.  That  you  have  to  philosophise,  I  mean.  You 
should  take  long  walks  and  cold  baths.  Then  you  should 
smoke.  There's  company  in  a  pipe,  and  it  doesn't  inter- 
rupt you. 

Tygesen.  The  generations  coming  after  us  will  have  still 
greater  demands,  which  means  that  they  will  be  still  more 
unhappy.     Did  you  ever  think  of  that.'* 


76  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  ii 

TuRMAN.  You  mean,  they  will  grow  more  and  more  nerv- 
ous? 

Tygesen.  There  you  said  it — nervous!  You  know  some 
of  our  foremost  thinkers  and  critics.  You  have  often  poked 
fun  at  them.  They  are  all  brain  and  nerves.  A  hundred 
years  from  now  that  kind  of  people  will  be  ten  times  more 
numerous.     And  so  on — and  so  on ! 

TuRMAN.  Ten  times  more  of  nervousness ? 

Tygesen.  Ten  times  more  irritability!  Ten  times  more 
temper!     Of  course! 

TxjRMAN.  Yes,  then  it  will  be  a  joy  to  live! 

Tygesen.  At  last  it  will  reach  the  point  where  no  human 
being  can  bear  the  sight  of  another  one.  They'll  scream  if 
they  catch  sight  of  each  other  half  a  mile  away — ^scream  with 
pain! 

TuRMAN.  Is  that  what  you  sit  here  and  try  to  cheer  your- 
self up  with,  Tygesen? 

Tygesen.  It  all  comes  from  the  spiritualisation  of  the  race. 
The  more  it  advances,  the  more  it  will  turn  to  mere  spirit. 
It's  horrible! — ^Or,  at  least,  it  will  be  so  unless  we  can  make 
proportionate  technical  advances,  and  thus  render  people 
independent  of  each  other.  By  making  it  possible,  for  in- 
stance, to  draw  food  directly  from  the  sun.  We  are  being 
fed  by  the  sun  now,  for  that  matter.  With  the  help  of  soil 
and  grass  and  grain  and  cattle  and  kettles —  Why  couldn't 
it  be  done  without  such  help?  With  nothing  in  between? 
Isn't  that  imaginable?  And  wouldn't  that  spare  us  all  that 
now  is  making  us  so  distressingly  dependent  on  each  other? 
Shouldn't  we  then  be  able  to  meet  in  spirit  only?  Oi  almost 
in  spirit  only? 

TuRMAN.  Yes,  almost! — But  don't  get  peevish  now.  You 
won't  get  anywhere  by  trying  to  lift  yourself  by  your  own 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  77 

boot-straps.  Imagination — that's  what  it  is,  man.  You 
need  help.     That's  all  there  is  to  it! 

Tygesen.  Help.''  I.''  Nobody  can  help  me.  And  nobody 
will. 

TuRMAN.  My,  mj^!  But  who  knows.'' — Of  course,  it  de- 
pends on  what  kind  of  help  you  have  in  mind. 

Tygesen.  Yes,  it's  easy  for  you  to  smile! 

TuRMAN.  I  fear  you  didn't  know  much  about  what  you 
had  until  you  missed  it. 

Tygesen.  Let  me  tell  you  once  for  all  that  I  won't  stand 
your  sneering.  And  to-day  I  am  less  than  ever  in  the  mood 
for  it. — Otherwise  I  am  human.  That  much  I  admit.  But 
you  don't  even  know  what  that  means. 

Tubman.  Is  it  really  so  painful  to  be  human,  Tygesen.'' 

Tygesen.  Now,  Turman,  can't  you  understand,  can't  you 
perceive,  can't  you 

Turman.  What's  the  matter  with  you? 

Tygesen.  Oh,  Lord,  he  asks  that!  Haven't  you  noticed — 
haven't  your  smell  and  taste  and  hearing  told  you  long  ago 
that  it  takes  me  all  my  self-control  to  bear  your  presence? 

Turman.  No. 

Tygesen.  No,  of  course  not! — And  hasn't  your  logic  told 
you  something  about  it — you  who  are  always  talking  about 
logic?  Couldn't  you  figure  out  that  this  solitude  of  mine 
must  reveal  to  me  just  how  the  whole  thing  has  happened? 

Turman.  No. 

Tygesen.  That  it  wouldn't  have  happened  except  for  you? 
That  it's  your  fault? 

Turman.  My ? 

Tygesen.  Yes,  yours ! — You  were  all  the  time  plaguing  me 
with  tales  about  those  infernal  rooms  of  yours — big  rooms 
full  of  books  and  papers  that  nobody  ever  touches.     You  were 


78  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  actii 

always  humiliating  me  by  means  of  your  colossal  memory, 
and  by  saying  that  "to  marry  is  to  lose  one's  memory." 

TuRMAN.  But  it's  true! 

Tygesen.  There  he  goes  again — damn  it! 

TuRMAN.  You've  got  into  an  awful  habit  of  swearing, 
Tygesen. 

Tygesen.  That's  the  only  way  a  man  with  a  little  decent 
imagination  can  make  the  language  suffice. — But  don't  you 
feel  now,  when  I  have  explained  it  to  you,  that  you  are  to 
blame  for  the  whole  thing? 

TuRMAN.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do! 

Tygesen.  No,  how  could  one  expect  a  book  bound  in  heavy 
leather 

TuRMAN.  Why  not  say  ox-hide  at  once.'' 

Tygesen.  All  right!  How  could  one  expect  a  easeful  of 
hide-bound  folios,  covered  with  tobacco  dust,  to  have  any 
feelings.'* 

Turman.  Perhaps,  if  you  looked  inside 

Tygesen.  God  forfend! 

Turman.  You  might  get  your  good  sleep  back.  Tygesen. 

Tygesen.  I  might  get — [With  a  sudden  change]  You  know 
something?     You  have  something  to  tell  me? 

Turman.  Maybe. 

Tygesen.  Why  don't  you  say  so  at  once?  You  said  you 
wanted  to  see  me  about  something.     What  is  it? 

Turman.  I  have  a  proposition  to  make. 

Tygesen.  From  whom? 

Turman.  PVom  them.     They  want  peace. 

Tygesen.  They  want  peace?  They  want  to  come  back 
again? 

Turman.  That's  what  I  said. 

Tygesen.  Why  didn't  you  say  so  at  once?  For  then  the 
earth  is  no  longer  covered  by  the  flood:  the  sun  is  stand- 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  79 

ing  over  Ararat!  Don't  you  see,  Turman?  After  all,  I  am 
no  cannibal !  Of  course,  I  can  shoot  off  superfluous  words — 
words  have  such  a  tendency  to  go  off  on  their  own  hook. 
But  life  isn't  made  up  of  words.  It's  made  up  of  realities — 
of  established  values,  lasting  relationships,  tasks  to  be  met. — 
Karen  sees  that.  At  a  pinch,  she  is  not  without  common 
sense. 

Turman.  But  first  of  all  j'ou  had  better  hear 

Tygesen.  No  more  "buts"!     Let's  have  a  drink  on  this! 

Turman.  Delighted,  but 

Tygesen.  No  "buts,"  I  tell  you!  This  wine  here  does  not 
deserve  any  "butting."  [They  drink]  Isn't  that  so? 

Turman.  It's  good  all  right,  but 

Tygesen.  What?  Have  you  more  of  them?  You  want 
another  glass? 

Turman.  Delighted,  but 

Tygesen.  Oh,  wash  down  your  "buts"!  Wash  them 
down!     Come  on!  [They  drink. 

Turman.  Thanks!     The  wine  i>  good.     But 

Tygesen.  More?     You're  insatiable!     Take  the  bottle! 

Turman.  There  isn't  much  left  in  it.     But 

Tygesen.  Out  with  them  then,  man!  Or  you'll  choke  on 
them! 

Turman.  The  conditions,  I  mean — wouldn't  you  care  to 
hear  them? 

Tygesen.  Conditions  for  what? 

Turman.  For  their  coming  home  again. 

Tygesen.  There  are  no  conditions.  I'll  take  Karen  in  my 
arms,  and  kiss  her,  and  carry  her  in.  Without  any  condi- 
tions whatsoever — that's  what  I'll  do.  All  that  silly  stuff 
we  talked — not  a  word  about  it!  Nor  to  Malla  either!  At 
bottom  she  is  all  right,  too. 

Turman.  That  means :  enter  women  folks,  exit  geography. 


80  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  act  ii 

Ttgesen.  Exit  geography? 

TuRMAN.  They  want  no  more  geography  in  this  room. 
Both  maps  and  notes  must  go.  They  want  this  room  to 
themselves. 

Tygesex.  They  want  it  to  themselves,  you  say.^ 

Tubman.  As  a  sign,  you  see,  that  geography  is  no  longer 
to  crowd  them  out  of  the  house.  There  is  to  be  equal  division. 
And  they  want  the  sitting-room  back,  too. 

Tygesex.  The  sitting-room  back,  too.^  That's  a  joke, 
Turman.     And  jokes  are  not  in  good  taste  just  now,  I  tell  you. 

TuRMAN.  No,  and  that's  why  I  am  talking  quite  seriously. 

Tygesex.  Why  do  you  smile?  You  are  just  making  fun  of 
me. 

Turman.  Yes,  you're  so  very  fond  of  fun,  Tygesen ! 

Tygesen.  You  didn't  speak  seriously,  then? 

Turman.  Yes,  I  did. 

Tygesen.  You  mean  I  should  clear  out?  Give  up  this 
room  and  the  sitting-room?     Oh,  nonsense! — You  rascal! 

Turman.  You  are  to  clear  this  room  of  everylhing  geo- 
graphical— and  the  sitting-room,  too.  And  that's  not  their 
only  demand, 

Tygesen.  What  else? 

Turman.  They  want  Helga's  room — and  Helga  to  come 
home.  They  want  a  fair  division.  They  want  all  that  is 
theirs. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  that's  what  they  want!  Well,  Turman, 
then  you  can't  blame  me  for  taking  them  at  their  own  word. 
All  that  is  theirs — I  have  not  the  slightest  objection.  For 
this  is  mine,  all  of  it ! 

Turman.  All  of  it  yours? 

Tygesen.  Everything  you  can  name  in  here  has  been 
bought  with  my  money.     The  whole  house  with  all  that's  in  it. 

Turman.  Including  the  rats? 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  81 

Tygesen.  In  all  seriousness  I  can  answer  that  the  rats  are 
also  mine.  And  why  did  I  buy  this  house?  To  do  my  work 
in  it.  And  what  is  their  business  here.''  To  help  me  do  my 
work.  Those  are  simple,  fundamental  truths;  on  them 
everything  else  is  built.  A  fair  division  must  be  based  on 
them.  That  means  they  have  no  right  to  demand  any- 
thing at  all.  But  I  won't  go  that  far:  let  them  go  up-stairs! 
If  they  don't  want  to  help  me,  they  must  at  least  get  out 
of  my  way.     Now  you  know  what's  theirs. 

TuRMAN.  That  isn't  much — the  attic. 

Tygesen.  It  won't  do  to  speak  of  the  upper  floor  of  a  house 
like  this  as  an  "attic."  Three  large  rooms  and  a  wide, 
lighted  hallway — a  regular  museum.  Isn't  that  a  home  in 
keeping  with  their  social  position.^'  And  then,  leading  up  to 
it,  an  easy  stairway  laid  with  carpets  and  decorated  with  ob- 
jects that  would  be  a  pride  to  any  ethnographical  collection. 
Are  they  queens  to  wish  for  more  than  that? 

Tubman.  I  imagine  it  can't  be  so  very  splendid  up  there, 
for  they  won't  accept  it. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  they  won't!  Why  the  devil  didn't  you  say 
so  at  once?  {Crying  out]  Ane! — They  think  they  can  tire  me 
out,  I  suppose! — Ane! 

Turman.  You  can't  face  it,  Tygesen.  Remember  Ishtar, 
Tygesen — the  Assyrian. 

Tygesen.  Ane!  Where  the  deuce  is  that  girl? — I  should 
be  a  traitor  to  humanity  if  I  didn't  stick  it  out.  The  issue 
at  stake  is  a  principle  loftier  than  Mount  Everest.  And  I 
am  not  exaggerating  either — [Ane  appears]  Oh,  there  you 
are!  Hurry  up  and  get  ready,  Ane.  We're  going  to  put 
up  maps. 

Ane.  For  the  land's  sake— — ! 

Tygesen.  This  very  minute! — Don't  argue! 
Ane  goes  out  to  make  herself  ready. 


82  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  a 

TuRMAN.  All  right,  then  I'll  write  them  that  you  have 
grown  principles — loftier  than  the  world's  tallest  mountain 
peak. 

Tygesen.  Go  on  and  write!  Do  it  on  the  spot!  You  can 
go  into  my  study.  Write  them  that  you  are  sitting  in  my 
study.     That  I  asked  you  to  write.     Then  they'll  understand. 

TuRMAN.  And  when  the  next  bad  spell  comes,  Tygesen ? 

Tygesen.  Write  about  what  you  have  seen  here — about  the 
maps.     That'll  be  answer  enough  for  them. 

TuRMAN.  O  holy  matrimony! — Well,  have  a  pleasant  time, 
Tygesen!  [He  goes  into  the  study. 

Tygesen.  First  he  starts  the  whole  trouble,  and  then  he 
goes  around  enjoying  it.  [To  Ane,  who  has  just  come  in]  Why 
don't  you  stay  in  one  place? 

Ane.  I? 

Tygesen.  [To  himself]  Wonder  what  she  is  after.' — Sup- 
pose I  tried  to  make  friends  with  her?  For  it's  true:  there  is 
no  one  else.  [To  Ane]  Ane! 

Ane.  Yes. 

Tygesen.  Let's  put  back  the  table. — That's  it! — Would 
you  like  a  glass  of  wine? 

Ane.  I? — Lord,  what  is  he  up  to  now? 

Tygesen.  Why  do  j^ou  always  get  behind  me? — Here  you 
are! — I  haven't  any  time  to  spare.  Here  you  are! — That's 
it!  Skoal,  Ane! — [To  himself]  Hm,  looking  at  her  close,  she 
isn't  so  bad  after  all.  [To  Ane]  The  less  help  a  man  can  get 
along  with,  Ane,  the  better.  And  the  farther  he'll  get. 
Now,  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  have  only  you.  Do  you 
understand? 

Ane.  We-ell — ye-es. 

Tygesen.  I'll  double  your  wages.  I'll  treble  them.  For 
it  isn't  a  question  of  saving,  you  see. — Would  you  like  an- 
other glass  of  wine? 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  83 

Ane.  Lord,  no! 

Tygesen.  Now  I'll  explain  to  you  why  we  are  putting  up 
these  maps. 

Ane.  Won't  you  excuse  me,  please?  I'll  do  anything 
else 

Tygesen.  Wait  a  moment,  Ane.  and  you'll  hear.  Nobody 
could  expect  you  to  understand  anything  until  it  had  been 
explained  to  you.  Eh? — No! — Well,  then:  Russia  is  a 
mighty  big  country.  And  that's  the  country  I  am  writing 
about.     Do  you  know  how  big  Russia  is? 

Ane.  Russia?     I  guess  it's  pretty  big. 

Tygesen.  It's  so  big  that  if  Norway — all  Norway — were  as 
big  as  this  [he  walks  in  a  small  circle],  then  Russia  would  be  as 
big  as  this.  [He  describes  a  very  large  circle  on  the  floor. 

Ane.  Just  as  it  is  on  the  map. 

Tygesen.  On  the  map?     Do  you  know  what  a  map  is? 

Ane.  Sure! 

Tygesen.  Oh,  that  makes  a  difference.  Then  I  can  cut  it 
short. — You  see,  the  hardest  thing  I  know  is  to  remember  all 
there  is  in  such  a  very  la-a-a-arge  country. 

Ane.  Have  you  got  to  remember  everything? 

Tygesen.  Everything.  Well — that  is — not  exactly  every- 
thing. But  about  the  languages,  for  instance.  You  see 
those  strips  of  paper  on  the  tables  over  there? 

Ane.  I'm  that  scared  of  them,  I  hardly  dare  go  near  them. 

Tygesen.  Don't  let's  talk  of  that  now.  Those  strips  of 
paper^those  are  the  languages. 

Ane.  Are  those  the  languages? 

Tygesen.  No,  not  the  languages,  but  notes  about  them! 
You  understand  what  I  mean,  don't  you? — Where  were  you 
born? 

Ane.  On  Gallows  Hill. 


84  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  n 

Tygesen.  Which  means  in  Christiania,  which  means  in 
Norway.     All  people  born  in  Norway  talk  the  same  language. 

Ane.  Do  the  people  on  the  West  Coast  talk  like  us  on 
Gallows  Hill? 

Tygesex.  Yes,  they  do! 

Ane.  But 

Tygesen.  It  is  as  I  say.  Don't  break  in!  That  makes  it 
so  much  harder  for  me.  What  I  wanted  to  saj — what  I 
wanted  to  explain  was  that  people  who  understand  each  other 
talk  the  same  language.  You  understand  the  people  from 
the  West  Coast.  But  how  about  French?  Do  you  under- 
stand French? 

Ane.  Yes. 

Tygesen.  Frencli? 

Ane.  We  had  a  couple  of  Frenchmen  here,  and  one  of 
them  always  said  when  he  saw  me  in  the  door:  "Je  t'aime! 
Comme  tu  es  jolie!" 

Tygesex.  And  what  does  it  mean? 

Ane.  Shut  him — come  and  be  jolly ! 

Tygesen.  I  guess  we  had  better  not  talk  any  more  about 
the  languages,  Ane.     We'll  get  at  it  in  another  way. 

Ane.  But  can't  you  excuse  me  from  putting  up  maps? 

Tygesex.  Don't  get  impatient  now,  Ane.  Don't  you  see 
how  patient  I  am? — If  you  are  to  make  all  sorts  of  objections, 
it  will  be  worse  to  have  only  one  helper  than  to  have  the 
whole  lot  of  them. — Now  listen  to  me!  Well,  then — I'll  now 
enumerate  the  different  races  in  only  a  small  part  of  Russia — 
in  a  small  part  only!  Namely:  Timguses,  Samoyedes,  Ya- 
kuts, Kamchadales,  Koryaks — [The  door-bell  rings;  Axe  startu 
to  leave]  Where  are  you  going? 

Ane.  The  bell  is  ringing. 

Tygesen.  Who's  ringing  it? 

Ane.  I  don't  know. 


ACT  II  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  85 

Tygesen.  Nobody  comes  to  see  me.  And  I  don't  want 
any  more  of  those  people  that  come  to  see  you.  [The  hell  rings 
again]  Be  still!  Let  them  ring!  Then  they'll  get  tired  and 
not  come  back.  Now  let's  go  on:  Ghilyaks,  Voguls,  Ostiaks, 
Manchus.  [The  hell  rings]  Why  the  devil  does  that  bell  keep 
ringing!     Who's  ringing  it? 

Ane.  I  don't  know. 

Tygesen.  Ghilyaks,  Voguls.  [The  hell  rings  uninterrupt- 
edly] Ostiaks,  Manchus,  Yakuts,  Koryaks,  Tunguses —  You 
are  not  listening  to  me!  You're  a  regular  hussy!  [The  hell 
stops  ringing]  Where  are  you  going  .^ 

Ane.  I  thought 

Tygesen.  So  now  you've  begun  to  "think,"  too! — Give 
me  the  key  to  the  front  door ! 

Ane.  The  key  to  the  front  door.^ 

Tygesen.  Come  here  with  it! 

Ane.  But 

Tygesen.  Come  here  with  it,  I  tell  you!  [Taking  the  key 
from  her]  I'm  going  to  the  locksmith  myself  to  have  him 
change  the  lock  so  that  the  door  can't  be  opened  without 
a  key!     Do  you  understand.^ 

Ane.  But  if  anybody  should  come.^ 

Tygesen.  Nobody  needs  to  come  here  at  all,  and  if  they 
come  anyhow,  I'll  open  for  them. 

Ane,  But  when  I  have  to  go  out— — ? 

Tygesen.  Why  should  you  go  out?  Tell  me!  And  if  you 
must,  you  can  let  me  know! — Everything  is  going  to  be 
arranged  so  that  I  can  have  peace.  Everything  must  be  just 
right  in  the  house,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  disturbed  from  the 
outside.     Do  you  understand? 

Ane.  Can  I  go  now? 

Tygesen.  Why  do  you  need  to  go?  No!  Now  we'll  put 
up  maps. 


86  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  actu 

Ane.  But  the  dinner ? 

Tygesen.  I'll  attend  to  that. 

Ane.  You.' 

Tygesen.  You  don't  need  to  do  anything  at  all  after  this. 
Or  hardly  anything  at  all.  But  you'll  get  three  times  as  much 
wages.  Four  times  as  much,  for  that  matter,  if  I  can  only 
feel  safe.  And  have  peace.  So — now  tlie  maps! — No,  it's  no 
use,  damn  it!     You  must!     First  of  all,  we'll  fix  the  frames. 

Ane.  Then  I'll  have  to  be  climbing  again? 

Tygesen.  Yes! — I  don't  want  any  more  objections!  It's 
essential  to  the  peace  of  a  house  that  there  should  be  only 
one  will.  And  that  it  should  be  obeyed.  You  can  bet  any- 
thing you  please  that  you  won't  get  out  of  here  alive  until 
it's  done.     So:  now  we'll  begin! 

He  goes  to  the  table  and  takes  from  a  drawer  a  ball    of 
string  and  a  big  carving-knife.     Ane  begins  to  scream. 

Tygesen.  What's  the  matter  with  the  woman.' — Why  do 

you  yell  like  that? — ^Take  hold  now — none  of  your  tricks  will 

help  you!  [lie  starts  tovard  the  frames. 

Ane,  vjho  has  been  standing  in  front  of  them,  runs  from 

him  screaming. 

Tygesen.  I  think  tlie  devil  is  riding  you!  Why  do  you 
run  away? 

TuRMAN.  [Coming  from  the  study]  My  dear  fellow,  what's 
the  matter? 

Ane.  [Taking  refuge  behind  Turman]  Help! 

Curtain. 


ACT  III 

The  same  room  as  in  Acts  I  and  II,  but  cleared  of  all  lumber — 
710  more  maps  or  little  stones  to  be  seen.  The  stage  stands 
empty  for  a  while.  TheJi  the  front  bell  rings  and  a 
moment  later  the  voices  of  Ane  and  Helga  are  heard  oid- 
side. 

Ane.  [Outside]  Oh,  dear,  are  you  also  in  town  to-day,  miss? 

Helga.  [Outside]  I  have  run  in  for  a  few  moments  only. 

Ane.  [Outside]  Are  you  alone  to-day.'^ 
They  come  into  the  room. 

Helga.  [Who  carries  a  roll  of  sheet  music]  Yes,  I  am  alone 
to-day.     I  just  came  in  to  change  some  music. 

[She  goes  to  the  window. 

Ane.  To-day  again? 

Helga.  There  are  so  manj'  of  us — and  we  didn't  get  the 
right  music  last  time. — Well,  how  are  you,  iVne? 

Ane.  Thanks,  it's  just  as  it  was  before. 

Helga.  Are  you  still  scared? 

Ane.  Scared.^ — Indeed!  What  would  you  say  if  the  whole 
house  was  shut  and  locked  for  the  night,  and  then  somebody 
began,  after  twelve,  walking  around  the  halls,  down  in  the 
cellar,  up  the  stairs,  into  the  rooms — heh? 

Helga.  Well,  it  must  be  somebody  else,  and  not  father. 
For  I  had  a  letter  from  him  yesterday,  from  Bessarabia^ — from 
Kishinev — that's  a  city  down  there,  way  down  by  the  Black 
Sea.  So  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  dad,  Ane.  He  can't  pos- 
sibly be  around  here  at  night. 

[She  keeps  looking  out  of  the  loindow, 
87 


88  LOVE   AM)   GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

Ane.  As  if  I  couldn't  recognise  his  steps, — lie,  who  has  a 
double  and  always  is  heard  coming  twice? 

Helga.  That's  what  they  say.     I  have  never  heard  it. 

Ane.  But  I  have,  many  times.  P'irst  I  used  to  hear  him 
on  the  stone  walk  outside,  then  in  the  hall,  but  there  was  no 
professor  there.  Then  I  would  hear  him  again,  and  it  was 
the  professor.  That's  why  I  have  always  l)een  scared  of  him. 
He  isn't  like  other  people. 

Helga,  No,  he  isn't —  He  is  thinking  of  me  all  the  time, 
he  writes,  and  it  won't  leave  him  in  f>eace. 

Ane,  Maybe  that's  why  I  can  hear  him  here  at  night — he 
can't  get  any  peace? 

Helga,  But  then  he  should  be  coming  to  the  school — for 
that's  where  I  am, 

Ane.  Yes,  it  would  be  much  better  if  he  went  spookingi 
around  the  school  instead, 

Helga,  Have  you  told  Mr,  Turman  about  this? 

Ane.  I  have.  And  do  you  know  what  he  said?  "It's 
contrarious  to  science,"  he  said.  What  we  can  hear  with  our 
own  ears?  For  those  that  are  staying  with  me  can  hear  it, 
too. 

Helga,  Are  you  not  alone? 

Ane.  What?  Alone!  It's  all  I  can  do  to  be  here  alone 
in  the  day.  I  don't  dare  go  in  any  of  the  other  rooms.  I 
don't  dare  go  up-stairs  or  down  in  the  cellar.  I  stay  here  and 
in  the  kitchen — that's  what  I  do. 

Helga.  But  who's  staying  with  you  at  night,  Ane? 

Ane.  Oh,  well — that's  as  it  happens — mother  and  others. 

Helga.  What  does  your  mother  say? 

Ane.  Well,  she  won't  stay  here  any  more — not  to  save  her 
soul.     That's  the  way  she  feels  about  it. 

Helga.  I  shouldn't  dare  to  stay  with  you,  either,  now. 
You  have  frightened  me 


ACT  III  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  89 

Ane.  No,  I  guess  it  has  to  be  somebody  who's  got  a  lot  of 
courage 

Helga.  But,  Ane 

Ane.  It's  for  the  good  of  the  house,  miss. 

Helga.  I  suppose  it's  some  girl  friends  of  yours.'' 

Ane.  Of  course!     Who  else  could  it  be.^ 

Helga.  No,  of  course! — There  was  something  I  wanted  to 
ask  you  about 

Ane.  Well.? 

Helga.  Oh,  well,  never  mind. 

[She  looks  out  of  the  window,  and  then  at  her  watch. 

Ane.  Have  you  been  reading  something  again,  miss? 

Helga.  Yes,  the  best  thing  I  ever  read  in  all  my  life! 

Ane.  Oh,  won't  you  tell  about  it? 

Helga.  I  have  been  reading  about  a  couple  that  couldn't 
have  each  other  because  they  were  too  young.  That  is,  they 
were  not  too  young,  you  see,  but  his  father  thought  so. 

Ane.  That  was  foolish! 

Helga.  But  they  were  not  afraid,  and  so  they  went  away 
together. 

Ane.  Without  anybody  knowing  it? 

Helga.  Without  anybody  knowing  it.  And  then  they 
came  to  a  little  town,  and  there  they  rented  a  garret  in  a  little 
house.  There  was  nothing  but  the  garret  up  there,  and  they 
lived  in  it.     Only  the  two  of  them. 

Ane.  Only  the  two  of  them. 

Helga.  They  were  together  all  the  time.  They  cooked 
their  food  together.     They  read  together 

Ane.  Were  they  students? 

Helga.  Why  should  they  be  students? 

Ane.  No,  I  guess  there  wasn't  much  studying  done. 

Helga.  They  had  such  an  awfully  good   time.     Nobody 


90  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

knew  about  them.  Nohofly  cainc  to  see  them.  Only  the 
two  of  them. 

Axe.  Didn't  they  get  tired  of  that.^ 

Helga.  What  do  you  mean? — But  soon  they  got  very  hard 
up. 

Ane.  They  hadn't  any  money .^ 

Helga.  Not  very  much.  But  they  didn't  care  in  the  least ! 
They  sold  everything  they  could  spare,  and  their  watches  first 
of  all.  AVhat  did  they  care  about  the  time.'  And  then  her 
jewelry.  What  did  they  care  about  such  things?  And  then 
all  the  clothes  they  didn't  use.  The  name  of  the  story  is 
"Life's  Superfluities."  They  sold  what  they  had  no  need  for, 
you  see.  But  the  winter  was  dreadfully  cold,  and  soon  they 
had  no  wood  left. 

Ane.  No  wood  either? 

Helga.  Then  they  burned  the  furniture. 

Ane.  The  furniture! 

Helga.  They  didn't  need  it,  you  see — and  so  they  used  the 
table  and  the  chairs  and  the  bed 

Ane.  The  bed,  too! 

Helga.  They  didn't  need  it!  And  when  it  was  all  gone, 
they  pulled  up  the  stairway,  and  cut  it  to  pieces,  and  burned 
it. 

Ane.  The  stairway         ! 

Helga.  They  didn't  need  the  stairs.  And  then  came  his 
father. 

Ane.  Well,  I  should  say  it  was  about  time! 

Helga.  He  was  a  shrewd  one!  He  had  known  of  every- 
thing, for  the  landlord  was  his  friend  and  kept  him  posted. 
He  had  just  been  waiting  to  see  them  starve — and  give  in. 

Ane.  But  they  didn't  give  in? 

Helga.  No,  you  may  be  sure !  It  was  the  ohl  man  who  had 
to  give  in. 


ACTui  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  91 

Ane.  Good  for  them ! 

Helga.  But,  of  course,  I  can't  tell  it  the  way  it  reads,  for 
it's  perfectly  wonderfully  written.  Just  think,  if  it  happened 
like  that  in  real  life  nowadays!     But  I  guess  it  doesn't. 

Ane.  No,  I  guess  not. — Lord,  but  you're  like  your  father, 
miss! 

Helga.  I?    Am  I  like  dad.'* 

Ane.  I  mean,  it's  only  one  thing  at  a  time  with  both  of 
you.  It's  nothing  but  geography  with  him,  and  with  you 
it's 

Helga.  Don't  you  say  it,  Ane ! 

Ane.  Whom  are  you  looking  for.^ 

Helga.  I.'  Oh,  it's  such  fun  to  stand  here  again  and  look 
at  all  the  familiar  faces  on  the  street  and  in  the  windows. 
There's  the  man  who  brings  coal  now. 

Ane.  There's  one  fellow  who  keeps  passing  here  all  the 
time — in  a  grey  coat. 

Helga.  In  a  grey  coat,  you  say? 

Ane.  And  now  it's  this  one,  and  now  it's  that 

Helga.  Whom  do  you  mean? 

Ane.  Him  that  painted  your  mother,  and  Miss  Malla 
didn't  want  to  have  along  on  the  trip. 

Helga.  Mr.  Henning? 

Ane.  Sure. 

Helga.  You  see  him  pass — now  with  this  one 

Ane.  And  now  with  that  one. 

Helga.  Girls,  you  mean? 

Ane.  Sure. 

Helga.  Have  you  seen  him  to-day? 

Ane.  No,  not  to-day. 

Helga.  But  you  don't  mean  to  say ? 

Ane.  Sure,  I  do!     He's  a  fine  one,  he  is! 

Helga.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  Ane! — And 


92  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

I'll  tell  you :  when  a  man  is  really  fond  of  somebody,  then  he 
has  to  go  out  walking  with  others  too,  or  people  will  find  out 
whom  he  is  fond  of. 

Axe.  Has  Mr.  Henning  been  saying  that.' 

Helga.  How  should  I  know?  I  don't  know  what  Mr. 
Henning  has  been  saying. 

Ane.  For  that's  what  they  all  say 

Helga.  Do  they .' 

Ane.  And  the  best  thing  is  to  pay  them  back  in  the  same 
coin.     They  are  like  that,  and — tit  for  tat! 

Helga.  Haven't  you  anybody  whom  you  are  fond  of? 

Ane.  Fond  of — that  can  mean  such  a  lot  of  things. 

Helga.  Haven't  you  a  beau? 

Ane.  The  idea!  No,  it's  too  much  like  being  robbed. 
We've  dropped  that  kind  of  thing,  we  girls. 

Helga.  Having  beaux ? 

Ane.  Sure!     And  we've  made  a  song  about  it,  too. 

Helga.  Oh,  sing  it! 

Ane.  I'll  be  glad  to.  It  goes  to  the  tune  of  "The  Last 
Rose."  It  has  another  tune,  too,  and  that's  much  better, 
but  I  don't  know  it  so  well. 

Helga.  Sing  the  one  you  know! 

Ane.  [Sings] 

I  w'on't  have  a  lover  ever. 
For  I  want  to  own  my  soul; 
False  I'll  be  to  no  one  never, 
But  I  want  to  like  'em  all. 

One  to-day  and  one  to-morrow. 
That  will  be  my  happiness. 
So  I  bid  good-by  to  sorrow, 
Leave  to  each  his  own  distress. 


ACTui  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  93 

Helga.  [Looks  at  her  watch  the  moment  the  song  w  finished 
and  runs  out]  Good-by  for  a  while! 

Ane.  But  the  music,  the  music! 

Helga.  [Already  outside]  Oh,  let  it  stay  there! 

Ane.  [Hurries  to  the  window]  I  don't  see  anybody.  I  must 
run  after  her. 

[She  runs  out,  and  for  a  little  while  the  stage  is  empty. 

BiRGiT.  [Is  heard  speaking  oidside]  After  you ! 

TuRM.^N.  [Also  oidside]  Oh,  no,  after  you! 

BiRGiT.  [Outside]  Is  there  no  maid  here.^ 

TuRMAN.  [Outside]  Doesn't  seem  so. 

BiRGiT.  [Outside]  Yet  the  front  door  wasn't  locked ? 

Tubman.  [Still  outside]  Tygesen  should  know  of  this ! 
Both  come  into  the  room. 

BiRGiT.  Well,  you  are .^ 

Turman.  Yes,  I  am.     And  you  are .'' 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  I  am. 

TtiRMAN.  I  am  very  prompt,  as  you  see. 

BiRGiT.  You'll  forgive  me  for  asking  you  to  meet  me.' 

Tubman.  Not  at  all !  I  had  to  come  here  to  get  a  book  for 
Tygesen  anyhow. 

BiRGiT.  He's  in  Bessarabia? 

TuRMAN.  In  Bessarabia,  at  Kishinev.  Had  a  letter  from 
him  yesterday.  I  am  to  look  up  a  book  in  his  library  and 
send  it  to  him. — Have  you  had  a  pleasant  trip? 

BiRGiT.  Very  pleasant,  but  all  too  short.  Mrs.  T^'gesen 
insisted  on  going  home. 

Turman.  Tygesen  will  soon  be  here,  too. 

BiRGiT.  I  wanted  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you  before  the 
rest  arrive.  They  stopped  at  the  school  and  will  be  here  in  a 
few  moments. 

Turman.  I  am  at  vour  service. 


94  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

BiRGiT.  Mr.  Tygcsen  was  in  pretty  had  condition  when  lie 
left,  wasn't  he? 

She  motions  Tubman  to  be  seated  and  also  sits  down 
herself. 

TuRMAN.  His  condition  was  so  bad  that  if  I  only  said 
"How  goes  it,  Tygesen?"  he  would  shriek. 

BiRGiT.  You  haven't  much  sympathy  for  him? 

TuRMAN.  Oh,  yes! — Yes,  I  have  sympathy  for  all  who  are 
married. 

BiRGiT.  Consequently  for  me,  too? 

TuRMAN.  Not  while  your  husband  is  in  Odessa  and  you 
here. 

BiRGiT.  [To  herself]  I'll  make  you  pay  for  that.  [To  Tub- 
man] And  I,  for  my  part,  have  sympathy  with  all  who  are 
made  selfish  by  their  work. 

TuRMAN.  By  their  work?    Does  that  make  anybody  selfish? 

BiRGiT.  Indeed!  In  the  end  they  find  everything  anil 
everybody  in  the  way.  Only  their  work  counts. — There  are 
many  of  that  kind. 

TuRMAN.  But  not  Tygesen? 

BiRGiT.  Tygesen  especially.  Does  he  really  need  all  the 
maps  he's  putting  up? 

TuRiMAN.  Not  one  of  them. 

BiRGiT.  Not  one  of  them?     That's  worse  than  I  thought. 

TuRMAN.  He  knows  them  by  heart.  Including  the  new 
ones,  as  soon  as  he  has  had  a  look  at  them. 

BiRGlT.  But  why  should  he  fill  up  the  house  with  them, 
then? 

TuRiMAN.  The  idea  of  it  has  caught  his  imagination.  Anil 
when  that's  the  case,  Tygesen  is  absolutely  intractable. 

BiRGiT.  But  who  has  turned  his  imagination  in  such  a  di- 
rection?— Crowding  his  family  out,  I  mean,  and  leaving  no 
place  for  anything  but  his  work? 


ACTin  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  95 

Tubman.  Do  you  know  Tygesen? 

BiRGiT.  No,  but  I  have  known  men  of  imagination. 

TuRMAN.  Then  you  ought  to  know  how  blind  they  can  be. 

BiRGiT.  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  the  reverse  might 
be  true.^ 

TuRMAN.  The  reverse.^ — How  do  you  mean,  madam? 

BiRGiT.  That  men  of  imagination — ui  spite  of  all  their 
slips — might  be  the  only  ones  who  see — the  ones  among  us 
who  discover  things? 

TuRMAN.  Oh — I  see!  [He  moves  his  chair  further  away. 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  you  have  good  cause  to  be  frightened — for 
there  is  a  little  of  the  same  thing  in  myself. — What  I  mean  is, 
that  most  of  the  trouble  in  this  world  comes  from  those  who 
have  not  enough  imagination.     And  that's  the  case  here,  too. 

TuRMAN.  Is  that  so? 

BiRGiT.  If  Tygesen  hadn't  met  a  certain  old  friend  of  his 
again,  nothing  would  ever  have  gone  wrong.  And  if  that 
friend  hadn't  been  standing  in  the  way,  the  whole  thing  would 
have  been  settled  by  now. 

Tubman.  But  those  are  Tygesen's  own  words!  How  do 
you  know  that  I  have  stood  in  the  way  of  a  settlement? 

BiRGiT.  By  your  own  letters. 

Tubman.  By  my  own  letters? — Then  I  don't  even  know 
what  I  am  writing? 

BiRGiT.  Of  course  you  don't. 

Turman.  No,  of  course  not!  Is  it  by  holding  the  letters 
up  against  the  light  that  you  have ? 

BiRGiT.  No,  merely  by  reading  them  and  by  using  my 
vision.     Which  is  more  than  you  can  do. 

Tubman.  So  I'm  beginning  to  think. — I  suppose  that,  just 
now,  I  don't  see  you  either? 

BiBGiT.  You.' — See  me? — No! 


96  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  actiii 

Tubman.  So  you're  invisible! —  Well,  even  Tygesen 
hasn't  carried  it  that  far. 

BiRGiT.  Can  you  see  that  hand? 

TuRMAN.  That  hand — yes.     Do  you  think  I  can't  see  it.' 

BiRGiT.  Do  you  really  see  it.' 

TuRMAN.  Really  see  it.'     Well — perhaps  it's  invisible,  too.' 

BiRGiT.  Can  you  see  that  it  is  my  hand.' 

TuRMAN.  Could  it  possibly  be  anybody  else's.' 

BiRGiT.  How  do  you  see  that  it  is  mine? 

TuRMAN.  Well — because  it's  connected  with  your  arm. 
Can't  you  see  that? 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  but  there  are  other  ways  in  which  I  can  see 
that  your  hand  is  yours. 

TuRMAN.  So  now  the  turn  has  come  to  mine. 

[lie  holds  out  his  hand. 

BiRGlT.  I  think  that  mine  will  be  more  than  enough. 
What  do  you  see? 

TuRMAN.  A  woman's  hand.  With  five  fingers.  Rather 
long.  And  a  ring.  Also  a  palm. — What  do  you  expect  me 
to  see? 

BiRGiT.  Everything. 

TuRMAN.  That  means  your  wrist  too? 

BiRGiT.  If  you  can. 

TuRMAN.  Is  that  so  very  difficult — to  see  your  wrist? 
There  is  a  bracelet.  Well,  I  don't  know  anything  ai)()iit 
trinkets. 

BiRGiT.  How  about  what  you  do  know? 

TuRMAN.  About  the  hand? 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  the  hand,  for  instance. 

TuRMAN.  It  has  never  been  in  a  washtub — it's  so  very 
white. 

BiHGiT.  Is  that  all? 


ACT  III  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  97 

Tubman.  What  do  you  mean?  The  veins?  The  nails? 
Or  perhaps  you  are  thinking  of  the  inside — the  lines?  Do 
you  want  me  to  tell  your  fortune? 

BiRGiT.  If  you  can. 

TxjRMAN.  No,  I  can't.  I  don't  believe  in  it,  either.  But 
that's  not  the  reason? 

BiRGiT.  But  somebody  else,  a  man  with  imagination — do 
you  know  what  he  saw? 

Tubman.  No,  tell  me. 

BiRGiT.  My  character.  And  a  good  deal  of  my  history, 
too. 

TuRMAN.  In  your  hand?  [He  bends  to  look  at  it. 

BiRGiT.  In  it  and  on  it.  He  saw  why  this  hand  must  be 
mine — in  a  word:  he  saiv  it.  And  if  it  came  near  him — as 
near  as  it  is  to  you  now — he  could  feel  it,  too,  without 
touching  it.     Could  feel  how  it  repelled  or  attracted  him. 

TuRMAN.  The  deuce,  you  say! 

BiRGiT.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  And  you  think  you  see?  That  you 
understand  women?  That  you  can  explain  marriage?  You 
dare  to  interfere  in  relations  so  various  and  so  delicate  as 
those  between  Tygesen  and  his  wife? 

[She  has  risen  in  speaking  these  words. 

TuRMAN.  [Who  has  also  risen]  I  have  never  done  so! 

BiRGiT.  Yes,  to  such  an  extent  that,  if  you  were  not  as 
hopelessly  blind  as  you  are,  it  might  be  called  criminal. 

TuRMAN.  Criminal?  Have  I  been  guilty  of  anything 
criminal  ? 

BiRGiT.  Oh,  there  are  more  crimes  than  those  mentioned 
in  the  law-books.     The  very  worst  ones  are  not  there  at  all, 

TuRMAN.  As,  for  instance? 

BiRGiT.  As,  for  instance,  the  tainting  of  a  child's  imagina- 
tion. 

TuRMAN.  But  have  I ? 


98  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  act  in 

BiRGiT.  It's  of  no  use  getting  angry,  professor!  Men  of 
imagination — and  particularly  men  of  genius — are  children. 
They  receive  things  with  wide-open  senses  and  in  absolute 
innocence.  You  can  mould  the  imagination  of  Tygesen  a.s 
if  it  were  wax.  For  that  reason  it's  a  serious  responsi- 
bility to  be  the  friend  of  such  a  man. — And  you  have  daily 
been  filling  his  mind  with  the  notion  tliat  a  marriage  meant  ii 
loss  to  his  sacred  science — the  destruction  of  it. 

TuRMAN.  But,  as  sure  as  I  live,  that  is  so! 

BiRGiT.  Do  you  think  anybody  loses  anything  by  living  a 
complete  human  life.'  Or  that  anything  you  are  occupied 
with  could  lose  by  such  a  life? 

Tubman.  We  are  scattered  by  it — and  held  back  by  it 

BiRGiT.  By  the  practice  of  love  and  the  development  of 
character.?  Oh,  no! — To  be  loved  and  assisted — could  that 
hold  us  back? — You  have  done  much  wrong  to  Tygesen,  and 
to  Mrs.  Tygesen ! 

Turman.  Upon  my  soul,  I  have  done  him  as  much  good  as 
I  could — that's  what  I  have  done!  And  do  you  know  what 
he  has  done?  He  has  unloaded  on  me  whatever  gave  him 
any  concern.  Tygesen  is  a  tyrant,  I  can  tell  you,  and  he  is  a 
tyrant  because  he  is  selfish,  and  I  have  borne  with  it  so  far. 
There's  the  crime  I  have  committed! — Oh,  I  never  heard  of 
such  a  lot  of  mare's  nests! 

BiRGiT.  [Smiling]  You  are  not  losing  your  temper? — But 
I'll  transfer  the  battle  to  another  field — where  you  are  quite 
at  home.     When  Ishtar,  the  Assyrian — — 

TuRMAN.  What's  that? 

BiRGiT.  When  Ishtar,  the  Assyrian,  had  been  deserted  and 
was  languishing,  she  sought  her  sister  in  the  nether  world. 

Turman.   You  know  about  that ? 

BiRGiT.  Just  think,  the  goddess  was  able  to  plunge  into 
those  regions  from  the  sunny  realm  of  illusions! 


ACT  III  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  99 

TtJBMAN.  True — there's  no  imagination  down  there.  Ha, 
ha! 

BiEGiT.  Yes,  I  am  sure  she  was  received  with  laughter.  It 
seems  to  me  I  can  hear  it  echo  through  the  clammy  halls  of 
that  dread  place. 

TuRMAN.  That's  pretty  good,  that  is. 

BiRGiT.  But  when  Tygesen  becomes  dejected,  as  such  peo- 
ple often  will,  and  turns  for  advice  to — well,  to  a  man  like 
you 

TuRMAN.  So  I  am  to  be  the  nether  world.? 

BiRGiT.  Haven't  you  said  yourself  that  you  see  everything 
as  it  is— without  any  illusions?  That's  the  mark  of  the 
nether  world. 

TuRMAN.  Pretty  good!     You're  clever. 

BiRGiT.  Ishtar  nearly  lost  her  reason 

TuRMAN.  Do  you  think  Tygesen .^ 

BiRGiT.  No,  Tygesen  is  a  very  strong  man, 

TuRMAN.  Yes,  that's  what  I  thought. 

BiRGiT.  But  he  is  not  the  only  one  here 

TuRMAN.  Mrs.  Tygesen [He  checks  himself  abruptly. 

BiRGiT.  [Going  up  to  him]  When  a  woman  at  the  age  of 
Mrs.  Tygesen  is  neglected  by  her  husband,  she  may  begin  to 
languish — and  she  may  do  some  very  strange  things.  That's 
what  /  can  tell  you.  And  now  I  am  talking  of  things  I  know. 
— But  you  are  quite  blind. 

TuRMAN.  But  Mrs.  Tygesen  is  not  troubled  with  imagina- 
tion, is  she? 

BiRGiT.  All  of  us  have  imagination.  Even  you.  And  I 
hope  to  heaven  that  yours  may  play  you  a  trick  some  time. 
With  that  pious  wish  I  must  leave  you  for  a  moment.  I  am 
to  meet  Mrs.  Tygesen.     Au  revoir!  [8he  goes  out. 

TuRMAN.  There's  a  lady  for  you!  And  educated  at  that ! — 
Ishtar — she  knows  about  Ishtar!     There  isn't  one  in  a  thou- 


100  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  acthi 

sand — not  one  in  a  hundred  thousand — who  does!  That 
much  I  have  to  admit!  But  to  forbid  me  poking  fun  at 
Tygesen?  That's  quite  out  of  the  question.  I  don't  think 
he  would  Hke  it,  either. 

Ane.  [Coming  in]  AMiat  a  cliase! — Oh,  are  you  here.^ 

Tubman.  The  door  wasn't  locked,  and  nobody  was  here. 

Ane.  No,  I  guess  I  forgot  all  about  the  door.  I  had  to 
run  after  somebody  I  saw  going  by. 

TuRMAN.  Quite  a  tour  that  must  have  been.  I  have  been 
here  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Ane.  It  was  our  young  lady. 

Tubman.  Is  sJie  in  town.^ 

Ane.  Yes — to  change  some  music. 

Tubman.  Would  they  send  her  to  do  that.'  And  all 
alone.'' 

Ane.  No,  she  isn't  alone. 

Tubman.  I  was  supposed  to  keep  an  eye  on  her.  But  now 
her  mother  is  back,  of  course. 

Ane.  Has  she  come  back.' 

Tubman.  They  have  gone  out  to  the  school,  both  she  and 
Miss  Rambek,  but  they  won't  find  Miss  Helga  there. 

Ane.  Oh,  they'll  find  her  all  right.  Well,  thank  God. 
they're  here! 

Tubman.  Is  all  that  ghost  business  at  night  keeping  up.' 

Ane.  Yes! 

Tubman.  Well,  to  reassure  you,  let  me  tell  you  I  got  a 
letter  from  Mr.  T^'gescn  yesterday — from  Bessarabia.  We 
have  a  law  in  physics  which  says  that  no  solid  botly  can  occupy 
two  different  spots  at  the  same  time. 

Ane.  Well,  I'll  be  darned  if  he  isn't  here,  too — that  was 
me,  Ane,  what  swore  to  it! 

Tubman.  But  why  should  he  be  around  here  only  at  night, 
Ane? 


ACTiu  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  101 

Ane.  He's  got  too  much  to  do  in  the  daj'time,  I  suppose. 
TuRMAN.  Well,  well.     You  ought  to  know  about  that. — I 
am  going  in  here  now  to  get  a  book.     The  door  hasn't  been 
locked,  has  it? 

Ane.  I  don't  know.     I  never  go  in  there. 
TuRMAN.  No,  it's  open.  [He  goes  into  the  study. 

Ane.  Why  can't  they  believe  me.-*  Seeing  as  we're  more'n 
one  that  hear  him  every  night. — In  the  day — perhaps  he's 
around  here  in  the  day,  too! 

Tygesen  appears  at  that  moment  in  the  doorway  leading 

to  the  hall. 
Ane  catches  sight  of  him  and  turns  stiff  with  fright. 
Seeing  that  she  is  frightened,  Tygesen  walks  right  at  her 

without  a  word. 
Ane  throws  herself  on  the  floor. 
Tygesen  walks  silently  around  her. 
Ane  raises  her  head  just  enough  to  watch  his  movements. 
As  soon  as  she  sees  her  chance,  she  gets  up  on  all  fours 
and  crauis  away  from  him.     Once  at  a  safe  distance, 
she  gets  up  and  runs  out — all  this  without  uttering  a 
sound. 
Tygesen.  She's  just  as  she  has  always  been,  that  one. — 
But  I  must  have  something  to  drink.     A  railroad  trip  like 
that  makes  one  thirsty  as  the  deuce.  [He  goes  to  the  cellar  door 
under  the  stairway,  takes  a  hunch  of  keys  from  his   pocket, 
and  starts  to  open  the  door;  but  the  moment  he  touches  the  door, 
it  yields  to  the  pressure]  So  that's  open,  too.     Of  course! 

He  disappears  into  the  cellar,  and  for  a  while  the  stage  is 

empty. 

TuRMAN.  [Returns  from  the  study  icith  a  book  in  his  hand] 

Now  I  must  get  it  wrapped  up  and  sent  ofiF.     I  think  I"ll 

go  down  to  my  book-dealer.     He  knows  best  how  to  do  it. 


102  LOVE  AND  GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

[He  looks  around]  That  girl's  crazy!  To  run  away  from  the 
house  and  not  lock  the  door,  that's  too  much.  If  Tygesen 
only  knew  of  it! 

Tygesex  comes  up  from  the  cellar  at  that  moment. 

TuRMAN.  [Wlio  is  just  turning  around  to  go,  catches  sight  of 
him  arid  statuls  perfectly  still  for  a  little  while;  then  he  takes  three 
or  four  steps  backward,  very  carefully:  and  at  last  he  faces  around, 
saying]  Stuff!  [Then  he  turns  toward  Tygesen  again,  takes 
another  look  at  him,  and  says]  Nonsense!  [lie  makes  slowly  for 
the  background,  leaving  plenty  of  room  betiveen  himself  and 
Tygesen]  Fibs!  [Finally  he  gets  by  and  readies  the  doorway, 
where  he  turns  around]  Stuff!     Nonsense!     Fibs! 

[Then  he  makes  a  quick  exit. 

Tygesen.  [Coming  forward]  I  guess  Turman  was  scared 
that  time! — It  isn't  "logical"  to  be  in  Bessarabia  and  here  at 
the  same  time. — But  somebody  must  have  l)een  here  in  my 
place.  In  the  whole  cellar  there  were  only  three  bottles  left, 
and  those  broken  at  that!  Thieves!  Thieves  have  got  in 
here!  So  it's  quite  natural  the  doors  should  stand  wide 
open.  What's  the  need  of  doors  on  a  house  that  has  been 
cleaned  out — I  can't  help  grudging  them  that  wine — they 
might  have  been  satisfied  with  something  cheaper.  Yes,  it's 
nice  to  be  home,  isn't  it? — And  how  about  my  clothes.^  If 
they  needed  wine,  they  must  have  needed  clothes,  too.  Yes. 
I  suppose  they  needed  clothes  first  and  wine  afterward.  [He 
goes  into  the  study  but  returns  quickly]  No,  thej'  didn't  have  to 
drink  naked,  those  fellows.  Everything's  gone — except  this! 
[He  spreads  out  the  old  dressing-gown  before  him]  I  think  they 
might  as  well  have  taken  that,  too.  It  wouldn't  have  left 
me  any  worse  off. — I  ought  to  be  on  my  way  to  the  school, 
but  now  I  simply  must  have  a  look  up-stairs,  too.  I  suji- 
pose  what  they  thought  was:  no  use  saving  what's  not  one's 
own!  [He  goes  toward  the  door]  I  can't  see  why  they  left  the 


ACT  III  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  103 

house  behind.     In  America  they  would  have  put  it  on  a  cart 
and  made  off  with  it.  [He  disappears  up  the  stairway. 

Malla.  [Speaking  outside]  Dear  me,  there's  that  front  door 
standing  open!     Think  if  Tygesen  had  seen  that! 

[She  comes  in  with  Turman. 

TuRMAN.  I  fear  it  was  I  who  forgot  to  shut  it.  Miss  Ram- 
bek.  For  I  must  tell — something  happened  to  me  in  here — 
something  very  peculiar. 

Malla.  Well — and  Ane  isn't  here,  either? 

Turman.  Perhaps  she's  in  the  garden 

Malla.  Or  in  the  cellar.  I  see  the  cellar  door  is  also  open. 
But  you're  not  at  all  like  yourself,  professor.  That's  what  I 
said  to  myself  the  moment  I  laid  eyes  on  you. 

Turman.  No,  because  something  very  peculiar  happened 
to  me. 

Malla.  What  happened  to  you? 

Turman.  Of  course,  it  was  nothing  but  a  delusion. — Ane 
has  been  talking  a  lot  of  silly  stuff  about  Tygesen — about  his 
having — having 

Malla.  A  double? 

Turman.  The  Lord  help  me!     There  she  goes,  too! 

Malla.  Oh,  many  a  time  we  have  heard  him  coming,  and 
then  he  didn't  come.     But  a  little  later  he  would  come. 

Turman.  That's  something  I  ought  to  have  heard,  too,  if 
it  were  true — considering  how  often  he  has  come  to  see  me. 

Malla.  It  isn't  everybody  that  can  hear  it. 

Turman.  So  I  understand — but  my  head  has  been  filled 
so  full  of  that  kind  of  talk,  that —  Well,  you  can  hardly 
believe  it,  but — it's  a  fact  that  I  seemed  to  see  Tygesen  stand- 
ing over  there 

Malla.  Where? 

Turman.  By  the  cellar  door. 

Malla.  Tygesen? 


104  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  actiii 

TuRMAN.  And  he  was  turning  his  head  after  me  as  I  went 

by. 

Malla.  When  was  that? 

Tubman.  Just  a  little  while  ago. 

Malla.  But  didn't  you  say  he  was  in 

Turman.  I  had  a  letter  from  him  yesterday — from  Kish- 
inev.    Yet  he  was  standing  right  there,  with  his  grey  hat  on. 

Malla.  Lord,  but  that's  like  him! 

Turman.  What's  like  him? 

Malla.  To  scare  people  with  all  sorts  of  tricks. 

Turman.  Has  he  also  scared  you? 

Malla.  Yes,  when  he  was  hundreds  of  miles  away. — 
What's  up  now? 

Turman.  [Having  caught  sight  of  the  drcssing-goirn,  he 
walks  backioard  with  his  eyes  on  it]  His  dressing-gown! 

Malla.  What  about  it? 

Turman.  It — it  wasn't  there  a  while  ago. 

Malla.  His  old  dressing-gown?  You  don't  mean  to  say 
that's  having  a  double,  too.  I  fear  it's  a  little  too  far  gone  for 
that. 

Turman.  But  nevertheless  it's  most  remarkable. 

Malla.  Are  you  not  feeling  well,  Mr.  Turman? 

Turman.  I  don't  think  I  am.  I'll  take  a  turn  through  the 
garden.  Then  I  can  look  for  Ane  at  the  same  time,  and  ask 
her  to  come  in. 

Malla.  Perhaps  I  had  better  go  with  you? 

Turman.  No,  thank  you!  No,  it's  merely  an  attack  of 
the  imagination  with  which  the  house  is  full.  Perhaps,  if  I 
go  outside,  I'll  get  rid  of  it.  [He  goes  out. 

Malla.  Tygesen  can't  have  dragged  that  rag  with  him  to 
Bessarabia!  And  it  could  never  have  got  home  alone,  I'm 
sure! 


ACT  III  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  105 

She  turns  around  and  sees  Tygesen  coming  doum  the 

stairs  toward  her.     As  he  moves  without  a  sound  and 

without  the  least   change  of  expression  on  his  face, 

ivhile  his  eyes  are  firmly  fixed  on  Malla,  he  gives 

one  the  effect  of  growing  taller  as  he  comes  nearer. 

Malla  sets  up  a  shriek  when  Tygesen  is  a  feto  steps 

away  from  her;  keeping  as  close  to  the  wall  as  possible, 

she  then  rushes  wildly  out  of  the  house. 

Tygesen.  Well,  that's  some  consolation!     To  have /ler  run 

away!     After  that  all  the  rest  hardly  matters. — For  there 

isn't  a  thing  left  here  that  belonged  to  me.     I  won't  say  a 

word  about  the  place  not  being  cleaned  while  I  have  been 

away. — Not  a  thing  left  up  there.     Thieves — thieves  all  over 

the  house.     And  that  confounded  girl — too  bad  nobody  would 

steal  her!     She's  still  w-alking  around  here  as  if  everything 

were  in  perfect  order.     She  won't  notice  anything  as  long  as 

they  don't  steal  the  floor  from  under  her  feet.     They  should 

have  put  their  heads  in  through  the  windows  and  yelled: 

"Now  we're  off  with  what  we  have  taken!"     Unless  they  did, 

she  could  never  know,  of  course! — Nice  thing  to  come  home, 

isn't  it.''     Home — ?     ^Vhere  have  my  thoughts  been.'     Malla 

has  come  home  again.     And  then  Karen  also  must —     They 

went  away  together.     If  one  has  come  home,  the  other  one 

must  have  come,  too.     Karen  must  also  be  here — perhaps 

she'll  come  any  moment!     What  does  it  matter,  then,  about 

the  wine,  and  the  clothes,  and  the  door,  and  the  girl?     I'll 

just  hold  on  to  Karen !    I'll  be  hanged  if  anybody  can  take  her 

away    from    me! — Ssh! — No,    it    isn't    her! — It's   Turman! 

He's  coming  back.  [He  goes  into  the  study. 

Turman,  Malla,  and  Ane  enter  together. 

Malla.  [Excitedly]  You  say  that  you  saw  him  by  the  cellar 

door,  and  I  saw  him  on  the  stairs! 

Ane.  [Weeping  and  pointing]  And  I  saw  him  there! 


106  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

Tubman.  I  tell  you  it's  nothing  but  imagination.  One 
sets  the  other  going.  Science  does  not  admit  that  kind  of 
thing,  can't  you  hear! 

Ane.  It's  a  thickhead  science  nuist  he,  then.  There  he 
stood,  as  sure  as  I  live,  and  s'elp  me  God,  in  his  grey  hat  and 
stared  at  me. 

Malla.  If  he  is  to  be  around  here  both  when  he's  away 
and  when  he's  at  home,  then  it  won't  be  possible  for  other 
people  to  stay  in  the  place. 

Ane.  That's  w^hat  I  say,  too,  and  I  want  to  go  at  once. 

Turman.  Hush — what  wa^  that? 

Ane.  Where  .^ 

Tubman  points  toward  the  study. 

Ane.  Yes,  indeed ! 

Malla.  Anything  in  there,  too .'' 

Ane.  [Whispering]  Can  you  hcar.^ 

Tubman.  Maybe 

Ane.  Sure,  there's  somebody! 

She  takes  refuge  behind  the  other  two,  becomes  aicarc  of 
tfie  dressing-gown,  and  utters  a  subdued  cry. 

Malla.  What  is  it? 

Ane.  His  dressing-gown! 

Malla.  Well,  what  about  it? 

Ane.  It's  got  out! 

Tubman.  Perhaps  some  thieves 

Malla.  That's  worse  still !      [She  falls  behind  the  other  two. 

Tubman.  Not  when  we  know  what  it  is. — Supposing  you 
take  a  look  in  there,  Ane? 

Ane.  I? 

Malla.  Just  open  the  door — then  all  of  us  can  see. 

Ane.  Why  don't  you  do  it? 

Tubman.  Just  give  a  push.     I  know  it  isn't  locketi. 

Malla.  Give  it  a  push,  Ane! 


ACTiu  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  107 

Ane.  Well,  I  guess  that  can't  be  so  very  dangerous.  [She 
tries  to  push  the  study  door  open]  It's  locked  on  the  inside! 

[She  runs  behind  the  other  two. 

TuRMAN.  Then  there  must  be  somebody  in  there. 

[Tries  to  get  behind  the  two  women. 
BiRGiT  enters  at  that  moment. 

Malla.  There's  Birgit!     Thank  Heaven! 

BiRGiT.  What's  the  matter.^ 

Malla.  [Whispering]  There's  somebody  in  the  study! 

Birgit.  In  there.'* 

The  Other  Three.  Yes. 

Birgit  starts  toward  the  study  door  to  open  it. 

The  Other  Three.  No,  no,  no! 

Birgit.  But  we  must  open  it! — What's  lying  there.'* 

[Wants  to  pick  up  the  dressing-gown. 

The  Other  Three.  No,  no,  no! 

Birgit.  But  this  is  like  a  Maeterlinck  play!^  Who's  in 
there? 

The  Other  Three.  [Whispering]  Thieves! 

Birgit.  Thieves?  Why  don't  you  send  for  the  police, 
then? 

Turman.  I'll  do  that.  [Starts  totoard  the  door,  but  turns 
back]  If  I  may  ask — where's  Mrs.  Tygesen? 

Birgit.  Across  the  street,  with  a  friend  of  Helga's. 

Malla.  Oh,  at  the  Toresens' ! 

Turman.  She's  the  real  master  here,  and  I  think  she  should 
be  told  first.  [He  hurries  out. 

Ane.  There  he  goes  now!     Leaving  us  women  alone. 

Birgit.  I  couldn't  speak  out  while  he  was  around. — 
There's  some  trouble  about  Helga,  you  know! 

Malla.  About  Helga!     She  was  in  town,  they  said. 

1  Of  course  this  is  one  of  the  things  added  by  Bjornson  in  his  rewriting  of  the 
play,  (he  original  version  of  which  antedated  Maeterlinck's  earliest  work  by  several 
years. 


108  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

BiRGiT.  Well,   that's  exactly  what  we  want  to  find  out 
about.     At  the  school  there's  tremendous  excitement. 
Ane  makes  for  the  door. 

Malla.  And  I,  who  went  away: 

BiRGiT.  {To  Ane]  Wait  a  moment!  [To  Mall.\]  >Vhat's 
the  name  of  her  over  there? 

Malla.  Ane. 

BiRGiT.  Wait,  Ane!  They  say  you  are  in  it,  too.  Come 
back  here! 

Malla.  But  what  is  it.^ 

BiRGiT.  A  love  affair. 

Malla.  With  whom? 

BiRGiT.  With  Henning,  the  painter. 

Malla.  He  who  was  also  running  after ? 

BiRGIT.   Hush! 

Malla.  The  wretch! 

BiRGiT.  [To  Ane]  And  they  say  you've  been  helping  her? 

Ane.  I? — No,  that's  nothing  but  a  lot  of  lies! 

BiRGiT.  There  are  people  who  say  they  have  seen  it. 
Helga  and  her  friends  have  been  coming  to  this  house. 

Ane.  That  may  be.  I  couldn't  stop  that.  But  if  there's 
anybody  who's  told  Helga  to  leave  all  that  love  business 
alone,  that  one's  me,  I  tell  you.  And  you  can  bet  your  life 
on  it! 

Malla.  It's  her  father's  fault — the  bloodthirsty  creature! 

BiRGiT.  There's  Karen  now. 

Karen  and  Turman  come  in. 

Karen.  Helga  isn't  here,  either? 

Birgit  and  Malla.  No. 

Karen.  My  child! 

Tygesen.  [Coming  out  oJ  the  study]  Karen! 

Birgit,  Turman,  Ane,  and  Malla  arc  startled. 


ACT  III  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  109 

Karex.  Dear!  Are  you  back?  God  be  praised!  Then 
everything  will  be  all  right  again !  [She  breaks  into  tears. 

Tygesex.  Karen,  Karen!  [He  and  his  wife  embrace]  Oh, 
to  have  you  back  again!  [In  a  loiv  voice]  I  can't  live  without 
you,  Karen!     I  can't! — I  have  had  such  a  dreadful  time! 

Kahex.  [Whispering]  So  have  I 

Tygesex.  [As  before]  I  absolutely  can't  be  alone ! 

Karen.  I  don't  know  how  I  could  leave  you.  And  now 
this  scare  about  Helga!  I  don't  know  how  I  could  leave  you 
both.     I  can't  understand! 

Tygesex.  But  I  can  understand.  It  was  I  who  drove  you 
away.  All  geography  and  no  love — that  won't  do,  you  see. 
But  all  love  and  no  geography  won't  do  either.  Now,  having 
left  all  the  geography  behind — I  just  had  to  come  home! 

Karex.  Oh,  mj^  dearest,  it  was  nasty  of  me  to  go.  But 
don't  let  us  try  to  settle  anything. 

Tygesex.  No,  don't  let  us  try  that! — So  that's  what  you 
say,  too? — No  settlements!  For  settlements  between  mar- 
ried people  are  like  throwing  oneself  out  of  the  window  a 
second  time  in  order  to  discover  how  it  happened  the  first 
time. 

Tur:max.  But,  Tygesen,  you  are  supposed  to  be  in  Bessa- 
rabia? 

Tygesex.  [Takes  a  long  look  at  him;  then  he  turns  to  his  wife 

again  and  gives  her  a  kiss;  at  last  he  says  to  Turmax]  Goose! 

[Then  he  kisses  his  wife  again. 

Malla.  But,  Karen — you're  forgetting  all  about  the  con- 
ditions ! 

Tygesex.  [Lets  his  wife  go  and  takes  a  step  toward  IVIalla] 
Boo!  [Then  he  goes  back  to  Karex  a7id  leads  her  aside]  We 
must  be  alone,  we  two! 

Karex.  Yes — but  Helga,  dear?  All  at  once  I  was  seized 
with  such  restlessness  that  I  was  forced  to  return. 


110  LOVE   AND   GEOGRAPHY  act  m 

Tygesen.  And  I — I  was  dreaming  about  mother!     Then 
you  know  something  is   in   the  air.     I    travelled   day  and 
night —     Let  us  all  start  out  to  look  for  her. 
Ane,  Birgit,  Malla,  and  Karen.  Yes! 

Ane  and  Birgit  leave. 
TuRMAN.  What's  all  this? 
IVIalla.  It's — oh,  something  you  can't  understand! 

Tygesen   and  Karen  start  arm  in  arm,  followed  by 
Malla  and  Turman. 
Ane.  {Meeting  tliem  in  the  liall,  says  triumphantly]  Here 
comes  Miss  Helga  now ! 

Birgit.  [Outside]  Here's  Helga! 

Malla.  Is  Helga  there? 

Ane.  Yes! 

Turman.  Alone? 

Ane.  Of  course ! 

Karen.  [Outside]  My  girl! 

Helga.  [Outside]  Mother! 

Karen.  [Outside]  Oh,  to  have  you  hack  again! 

Karen  and  Helga  enter  tcith  their  arms  about  each 
other. 
Tygesen.  Helga! 
Helga.  [Runs  up  to  him]  Dad! 

Tygesen.  I  have  been  terribly  alarmed  about  you.  [Helga 
draws  back  from  him  in  evident  embarrassment]  ^^'hat  is  the 
matter  with  you,  child? 

Karen.  Is  anything  the  matter?  [SJie  takes  the  girl  and 
leads  her  gently  fonrard]  Oh,  tell  me,  Helga! 

Helga  throws  herself  at  tier  mother  s  neck. 
Tygesen.  [Joining  them,  says  in  a  low  voice]  You  had  a 
rendezvous?  [Helga  sobs  and   nestles   closer  to   fur   mother; 
Tygesen  takes  her  by  the  arm]  Is  he  a  scoundrel? 
Helga  cannot  speak,  but  nods  assent. 


ACT  III  LOVE  AND   GEOGRAPHY  111 

Karen.  Tell  me  about  it! 

Tygesen.  Merciful  heavens ! 

Helga.  [Raises  her  head,  still  sobbing]  He — he 

Karen  and  Tygesen.  He ? 

Helga.  He  didn't  come! 

Karen.  He  didn't  come! 

Tygesen.  He  didn't  come!     Hurrah! 

All  the  Rest.  He  didn't  come! 

Karen  kisses  Helga,  takes  her  in  her  arms,  and  begins 

to  suing  her  around. 
Tygesen  takes  hold  of  both  and  dances  with  them. 

Turman.  [Pulling  Tygesen  by  his  coat-tail]  I  can  see  now 
that  you  want  to  get  rid  of  Malla. 

Tygesen.  Oh,  you  can  see  that.^ 

Turman.  Yes,  but — I  don't  want  her! 

Tygesen.  Professor  Turman  doesn't  want  you,  Malla! 

Turman.  But,  Tygesen ? 

Malla.  So  you  think  /  want  him.^  Oh,  no,  I  won't  have 
anything  to  do  with  either  of  you.  I  want  to  take  my  snuff 
all  by  myself,  I  do! 

Curtain. 


BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT 

(OVER    EVNE:   ANNEX    STYKKE) 

(1895) 


BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT 

(OVER   EVNE:    ANNET    STYKKE) 
ACT  I 

A  deep  chasm  that  ends  in  a  turn  toward  the  right.  It  is  just 
possible  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sea  in  the  background. 
Both  sides  of  the  chasm  are  dotted  with  small  huts  placed 
without  the  least  suggestion  of  order.  Some  of  them  are 
nothing  but  deck  houses,  while  others  are  made  up  of  the 
whole  stern  part  of  some  sailing-vessel.  Other  shanties 
lean  against  the  steep  sides  of  the  chasm  in  such  a  way  that 
the  lanes  in  their  rear  are  on  a  level  with  their  upper 
stories.  At  the  bottom  of  the  chasm,  in  the  foreground, 
is  a  sort  of  square  icith  a  fountain  and  a  ^vater-trough, 
both  very  dilapidated.     Houses  surround  the  open  place. 

In  the  extreme  foreground,  at  the  right,  there  stands  a  ramshackle 
old  building.  All  its  window-panes  are  broken.  The  front 
door  is  almost  torn  off  and  hangs  across  the  doorway.  A 
herd  metal  pole  projects  from  the  front  of  the  house.  It  car- 
ries a  signboard  loith  the  word  "Hell"  painted  on  it.  TJie 
sign  is  nearly  torn  from  its  fastenings. 

A  muffled  rumbling  fills  the  place  and  hardly  ever  ceases.  It 
comes  from  an  iron  bridge  that  spans  the  chasm.  Now  and 
then  the  whistle  of  an  engine  is  heard,  followed  by  the  deafen- 
ing clangour  of  a  passing  train.  When  this  ceases,  one  hears 
again  tlie  hollow  and  comparatively  suppressed  rumble  of 
carriage-xcheels  and  the  tramp  of  horses. 
115 


116  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  acti 

Before  the  curtain  rises,  a  funeral  hymn  is  sung  in  unison.  As 
the  curtain  rises,  a  coffin — the  size  of  ivhich  shows  that  it 
holds  the  body  of  a  grown-7ip  person — is  being  carried  out 
from  one  of  the  shanties  at  the  left.  It  is  followed  by  another 
coffin,  apparently  holding  the  body  of  a  child,  and  then  by  a 
third  that  is  still  smaller. 

The  square  is  crowded  with  tvorJcmen,  women,  and  children.  All 
the  vien  have  bared  their  heads.  Many  of  the  men  and 
women  are  crying.  Some  of  the  children  are  holding  loudly. 
The  people  fall  in  behind  the  coffins,  with  P'alk,  tJie  minister, 
at  their  head.  He  wears  the  canonical  dress  of  a  pastor  in 
the  Establislied  Church  of  Norioay.  Beside  him,  leaning  on 
his  arm,  totters  a  man  of  advanced  age,  Anders  Hoel, 
known  as  Blind  Anders.  Thus  the  procession  makes  very 
slow  progress. 

Every  one  present  falls  into  line.  The  procession  passes  along  the 
bottom  of  the  chasm  until  it  reaches  the  bend,  where  it  dis- 
appears to  the  right.  The  hymn  continues  to  be  heard  long 
after  the  last  people  have  passed  oid,  the  sound  of  it  mount- 
ing upward  as  it  recedes  into  the  distance. 

While  the  singing  is  still  heard,  an  elderly  man  sneaks  timidly 
out  of  the  ramshackle  building  at  tlie  right.  He  wears  a 
long  coat  that  falls  in  heavy  folds  around  him,  and  he 
acts  as  if  he  didn't  know  where  to  turn.  lie  stares  at  the 
maltreated  building  and  finally  he  sits  down  on  its  front 
stoop  ivhich  stands  separated  from  the  house  far  out  in 
the  square. 

At  that  moment  another  man  becomes  visible  far  up  on  the  path 
along  which  the  procession  passed.  His  clotlies  are  ragged, 
threadbare,  and  greasy.  On  his  Jwad,  which  is  very  large,  he 
wears  a  very  small  cap.  Tfie  shoe  on  his  right  foot  is  almost 
new,  but  on  the  left  foot  lie  has  merely  an  upper  to  which 
a  sole  is  fastened  with  strings.     His  face  is  very  red.     His 


ACT  I  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  117 

hands  are  almost  purple  in  colour.  His  hair  is  dark  and  cut 
very  short. 

This  man,  whose  name  is  Otto  Herre,  comes  down  the  road  with 
head  erect  and  swinging  movements.  On  seeing  the  m.an  sit- 
ting on  the  stoop,  he  stops  for  a  moment.  Then  he  resumes 
his  advance,  hut  more  slowly. 

At  last  the  man  on  the  stoop — named  Anders  Koll,  hut  gener- 
ally known  as  Mousie — hecomes  aware  0/ Herre  a7id  turns 
away  from  him. 

Mousie.  [Muttering  to  himself]  I  guess  he  must  'a'  got  out 
after  all. 

Herre.  Behold  the  humble  Mousie!  Seated  in  front  of 
his  torn-up  hole.     Sunk  in  deep  thought. 

Mousie.  [As  hefore]  He's  got  a  load  on,  sure  enough. 

Herre.  Broken,  the  windows — and  sadly  drooping,  the 
sign — like  a  drink  that  is  dripping  away.  The  stoop  seized 
by  a  hurricane  and  hurled  across  the  ocean  of  your  destiny. 
And  you  yourself  clinging  to  this  last  remnant  of  the  vessel 
that  was  your  life.  [A  queer,  clucking  sound  is  heard  from 
Mousie]  And  the  door!  That  door  which  has  seen  so  many 
beggars  enter  and  so  many  kings  pass  out !  Now  it's  hanging 
there  like  a  drunkard  whom  the  bouncer  is  chucking  into  the 
street. — That's  how  matters  look  where  the  wrathful  hand 
of  virtue  has  descended. 

Mousie.  So  news  gets  into  the  jail,  too.'* 

Herre.  They  have  made  scrambled  eggs  out  of  your  furni- 
ture. Your  glasses  and  bottles  have  had  to  turn  somersaults 
to  the  accompaniment  of  their  own  music. 

Mousie.  A  fellow  what's  on  his  uppers  had  better  look 
out — there's  still  a  lot  of  glass  around. 

Herre.  And  your  well-filled  whiskey  barrels 

Mousie.  [With  a  sigh]  Oh,  mercy — yes! 


118  BEYOND  HUjVIAxX  MIGHT  act  i 

Herre.  They  were  rolled  out — turned  into  torrents — by 
clerical  command. 

MousiE.  He  stood  exactly  where  you  are  now,  giving  his 
orders. 

Herre.  But  are  there  no  authorities,  then.^  Is  there  to  be 
no  law  at  all  down  here  in  Hell.^  Haven't  you  made  a 
complaint.'' 

MousiE.  No,  this  strike  here  has  made  'em  clear  crazy. 
If  I  had  complained,  they'd  'ave  torn  me  to  pieces.  They 
were  going  to  do  it  anj'how — they'd  already  started.  But 
then  that  fellow  Bratt  took  a  hand. 

Herre.  And  all  this  bec-ause  Maren  lost  her  reason — nice, 
honest  Maren ! 

MousiE.  [Half  risi7ig]  I  couldn't  help  that,  could  I? 

Herre.  Maren,  who  killed  both  her  brats! — And  I  who 
have  seen  them  running  around  here,  sockless  and  curly- 
haired!     What  is  life  anyhow? 

MousiE.  And  then  she  killed  herself — herself,  too! 

Herre.  And  she  killed  herself,  too!  First  the  children — 
then  herself.     Like  Medea — the  great  Medea! 

For  naught,  for  naught,  my  babes,  I  nurtured  you, 
And  all  for  naught  I  laboured,  travail-worn. 
Bearing  sharp  anguish  in  your  hour  of  birth.' 

MousiE.  [An  before]  I  couldn't  help  that,  could  I? 

Herre.  O  calamity-producing  Mousie:  speak  thou  the 
truth  at  this  open  grave!  Thus  biddeth  the  Word.  How 
much  more,  then,  at  three  open  graves!  .S7/<'  had  bought  the 
whiskey  from  you!  For  she  had  to  get  drunk  i)ef()rt'  she  cuuld 
face  her  gruesome  task. 

Mousie.  How  could  I  know  she  was  getting  ready  to — ? 
I  am  as  clean  of  it  as  a  baby's  shirt. 

Herre.  Weep  not,  Mousie!    It  behooves  not  your  rank  and 

'  Euripidfs,  Medea.     TniusluliJ  liy  Artliiir  S.  Way. 


ACT  I  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  119 

profession.  I  assure  you  that  if  I  had  been  out — what  I 
mean  to  say  is:  if  I  had  been  here — then  it  would  not  have 
happened.  But  how  was  it  that  people  didn't  get  their  rea- 
son back  when  they  saw  the  whiskey  rimning  away — literally 
running  away.'' 

MousiE.  Oh,  it  ran  like  water  in  a  brook,  man !  Just  like 
that! 

Herre.  But  didn't  they  go  down  on  their  bellies.''  Didn't 
they  lap  it  up.''  Didn't  they  use  the  hollows  of  their  hands 
for  cups?     Didn't  they  come  running  with  pitchers  and  pails .^ 

MousiE.  It  ran  all  over  the  parson's  feet.  "That's  where 
it  belongs,"  he  said. 

Herre.  Bratt  is  powerful.  But  there  are  limits  to  every- 
thing. Marvellous  happenings!  Like  earthquakes!  Is — - 
has  Bratt  taken  the  place  of  the  Lord  down  here? 

MousiE.  Oh,  I  guess  the  Lord  never  had  such  power  in  Hell 
as  that  fellow  has. 

Herre.  He  didn't  follow  the  coffin.  Or  I  would  have  said 
howdy  to  him.     We  were  together  at  the  university. 

MousiE.  No,  he's  in  his  office  now. 

Herre.  In  his  office?     But  he  isn't  a  minister  any  longer! 

MousiE.  The  strike  office,  I  mean.  It's  him  that  has 
started  this  strike  here,  and  all  the  money  goes  to  him. 

Elsa,  nicknamed  The  Fleece,  conies  in;  she  is  brown- 
skinned  and  full-bosomed. 

MousiE.  There's  the  Fleece. 

Herre.  Good  morning,  my  cup  of  hot  coffee!  All  my 
senses  are  drinking  in  your  fragrance.  What  are  you  after, 
anyhow? 

The  Fleece.  None  of  your  business,  Mr.  Soak!  So 
you've  got  out  at  last? 

Herre.  I  met  the  funeral,  but  failed  to  notice  your  chaotic 


120  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  acti 

locks  in  it.  All  Hell  was  there,  but  not  you,  its  guardian 
spirit.  You  were  attending  to  some  early  business,  were  you 
not." 

The  Fleece.  Oh,  leave  me  alone! — Why  didn't  you  go 
along  with  Maren  and  her  children.'  She  used  to  be  kind  to 
you.     And  that's  more  than  she  was  to  me. 

Herre.  Maren  was  good.  Why  didn't  I  go  along?  I'll 
tell  you — tell  you  frankly:  had  I  gone,  I  should  have  had  to 
speak!  Then  I  should  have  wiped  out  the  sun,  the  moon, 
and  all  the  stars  for  every  one  who  entered  that  chapel.  I 
should  have  said :  it  wasn't  she  who  is  lying  here — that  nice, 
hard-working  Maren — it  wasn't  she  who  killed  her  children. 
It  wasn't  she  who  took  her  own  life  sinfully.  No,  it  was  those 
people  up  there  that  killed  her.  Those  cannibals  that  live 
in  the  big  city  have  eaten  her — her  and  her  children.  The 
strike  went  to  her  head.  The  strike  took  her  reason.  For 
her  nervous  soul  possessed  that  fulness  of  conscience  which  is 
lacking  in  her  murderers.  Under  such  conditions  she  didn't 
dare  to  continue  living.  She  couldn't  bear  the  responsibility 
of  letting  her  two  little  girls  face  hunger  and  degradation.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  life  was  a  beast  of  prey,  and  she  wanted 
to  save  them  while  they  were  still [He  breaks  down. 

The  Fleece.  Really,  now  and  then  it  does  one  good  to 
listen  to  you.     The  way  you  put  things 

Herre.  You're  a  fine  woman,  Elsa.  There  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  your  heart. 

MousiE.  The  end  of  it  will  be  that  they'll  eat  us  all  up,  I 
suppose. 

A  Coarse  Male  Voice.  [Heard  from  ihe  hmises  at  the  left] 
If  we  don't  eat  'em  first! 

Herre.  Whatsort  of  mountain  spirit  was  that?  A  word  of 
warning  out  of  the  future.  A  message  from  the  huts  to  the 
palaces. 


ACT  I  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  121 

The  Fleece.  [Softly  to  Mousie]  What  made  me  come  here 
was  to  tell  you  to  look  out,  Anders. 

Mousie.  [In  the  same  tone]  Lord,  what's  up  now.''  Can't 
they  leave  me  alone  on  top  of  this.' 

The  Fleece.  [As  before]  I  fell  in  with  a  cop  up  there,  and 
he  asked  me  if  it  was  true  you  went  around  with  a  big  bottle 
of  whiskey  in  your  coat-pocket. 

Mousie.  No,  no,  it  isn't  true. 

He  puts  his  hand  mechanically  to  the  tail  pocket  of  his 
coat. 

The  Fleece.  [As  before]  And  if  you  sold  it  on  the  sly 
around  here? 

Mousie.  [Rising,  horrified]  There  you  see!  They  want  to 
ruin  me  outright! 

Herre.  [Comes  up  to  him  and  tries  to  put  his  arm  around 
him]  Is  that  true?     Have  you — have  you ? 

Mousie.  [Trying  to  get  away]  Leave  me  alone!  Leave  me 
alone,  I  tell  you!  You — he-he,  I'm  so  ticklish!  Oh,  you — ■ 
he-he ! 

Herre.  There  is  something  back  there.  When  you  move, 
it  describes  a  ponderous  circle. — Elsa! 

Mousie.  It  isn't  true! 

The  Fleece.  I'll  hold  him  for  you ! 

Mousie.  Don't  touch  me!     I'll  holler! 

The  Fleece.  Then  the  police  will  come  and  take  both  you 
and  your  bottle. 

A  Female  Voice.  [From  the  right]  What  are  you  doing  to 
the  Mousie  that  makes  it  squeak  so.'* 

Mousie.  No,  no,  no! 

Herre  pulls  a  big  bottle  from  Mousie's  coat-pocket. 

Mousie.  It's  ordered!  It's  an  order,  I  tell  you!  It  isn't 
mine  any  longer! 


122  BEYOND  HUMAN   MIGHT  acti 

Herre.  [Having  drunk  deeply] 
Ordered  or  not— — 
It  goes  right  to  the  spot. 

The  Fleece.  Oh,  well — let  me  now ! 

Herre.  [After  another  draught] 
It's  the  noblest  juice 
You  did  ever  produce! 

The  Fleece.  Let  me  now — let  me  now! 

Herre. 

All  right!     Do  your  worst. 
You  soul  athirst! 

MousiE.  This  is  the  worst  kind  of  larceny. 

The  Fleece.  Never  in  the  world  did  I  taste  anything 
better. 

Herre.  Ah!  Those  people  up  there — they  know — they 
know  pretty  well  why  they  want  to  keep  us  from  this  dream 
of  the  gods. 

Mousie.  You've  drunk  all  my  profit  for  many  days. 

Herre.  Have  a  drink  yourself,  you  poison-bearer! 

The  Fleece.  [In  a  low  voice]  Do  you  know  what  I  have 
been  thinking  of  again  and  again  these  last  days?  [Drawing 
closer  to  Herre]  Why  shouldn't  we  set  fire  to  the  whole  city 
up  there  some  stormy  night. ^     Just  set  fire  to  it! 

Herre.  Pooh !  Then  that  rabble  would  seek  safety  in  the 
open.  No  [mysteriously],  there  are  a  number  of  mining  gal- 
leries left  in  the  rock  on  which  the  city  is  built.  Left  from  the 
time  when  the  river  came  through  here.  Right  here  where  we 
are  standing  now.  For  we  are  living  in  the  old  river-bed. 
This  whole  Hell  here  is  nothing  but  the  old  river-bed.  These 
old  galleries,  which  start  back  of  the  houses  over  there  and 
run  into  the  rock  in  all  directions,  should  be  looked  up. 
Then  they  should  l)e  loaded  with  powder  and  dynamite  and 


ACT!  BEYOND   HUMAN  MIGHT  123 

all  sorts  of  explosives — with  electric  wires  laid  through  it. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!  What  a  revelation  of  stinking,  rotten  guts  we 
should  have  then ! 

The  Fleece.  Hooray!     What  a  hell-fry! 

She  snatcJies  the  bottle  from  Mousie  a7id  takes  a  lojig 
drink. 

Mousie.  But  then  we'd  have  to  fly,  too,  I  suppose. 

The  Fleece.  [Handing  the  bottle  to  Herre]  Would  we 
have  to  go  along? 

Herre.  [Having  had  a  drink  atid  then  permitted  Mousie  to 
take  back  the  bottle,  he  gives  Elsa  a  grandiose  look]  Could  we 
wish  for  a  more  beautiful  lot.^ — At  times,  when  I  have  given 
some  thought  to  the  final  exit  of  one  Otto  Berg  Herre,  my 
thoughts  have  pictured  it  something  like  this:  accompanied 
by  thousands  through  the  dawn-red  gates  of  immortality. 
At  my  command,  like  slaves  obeying  some  Oriental  master, 
they  would  have  to  change  dress  in  order  to  follow  me  in 
festive  garments.  After  a  life  full  of  big  promises — but  also 
full  of  cares  and  regrets  and  frequent  misunderstandings — 
to  reach  one's  goal  at  last,  in  the  moment  of  death — what 
a  coronation  that  would  be!  To  see  one's  name  flashed 
upon  the  sky  in  sun-gilt  script  and  read  by  all  the  world! 
To  seat  oneself  upon  a  sedia  curidis  built  out  of  the  bent 
necks  of  millionaires!  Ah,  ah — with  one's  feet  on  their 
money-bags!  And  all  around  one  the  curses  and  applause 
of  mankind  like  the  swelling  blast  of  an  orchestra — like  a 
roaring  sea  of  homage — ah! 

A  Female  Voice.  [From  the  right  as  before]  Now  they're 
coming  back! 

Mousie.  [Scared]  Who's  coming.? 

The  Fleece.  [Speaking  simultaneously  with  Mousie]  Com- 
ing, you  say.'' 

Herre.  [Simultaneously  with  Mousie  and  Elsa]  What  is  it.? 


124  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  act  i 

A  Female  Voice.  The  funeral,  don't  you  know?  But 
they're  still  up  above. 

The  Fleece.  Well — then  there's  plenty  of  time. 

MousiE.  [In  a  low  imcc]  But  these  here  galleries — there's 
a  lot  of  people  have  been  talking  of  them — but  you  can't  get 
through  them,  they  say. 

Herre.  There  we  are — there  we  are! 

MousiE.  There's  water  in  some  and  worse  in  others. 

The  Fleece.  Yes,  I  have  heard  that,  too. 

Herre.  That's  just  like  this  race  of  slaves!  The  least 
difficulty,  a  little  water,  a  few  grains  of  sand — and  it's 
enough  to  break  the  wings  of  their  vengeance,  to  scare  away 
their  cravings  for  freedom  and  light! 

A  Female  Voice.  The  parson's  along! 

Herre.  [Frightened]  The  parson?     Pastor  Bratt? 

A  Female  Voice.  No,  the  real  parson. 

MousiE.  Falk 

Herre.  Oh,  that  one!  He's  nothing  but  a  humbug.  And 
so  I  might  tell  him  to  his  face  any  time.  I  saw  enough  of  liim 
in  the  Students'  Society. 

The  Fleece.  Now  I'll  clear  out. 

Herre.  [Softly  to  Iwr]  I'll  be  with  you  in  a  moment. 

MousiE.  Would  you — would  you  say  that  to  the  parson? 

Herre.  What? 

MousiE.  What  you  said — what  you  called  him 

Herre.  A  humbug?     Why,  to  tell  him  tliat ? 

MousiE.  Will  you — if  you  will,  I'll  give  you  a  crown — 
sure  as  you  live! 

Herre.  In  advance! — In  advance! 

MousiE.  No-o-o 

Herre.  In  advance! 

MousiE.  And  if  you  don't  say  it,  then ? 


ACT  I  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  125 

Herre.  I'll  go  right  up  to  him  and  tell  him  at  once — on  my 
word  of  honour!     If  you  give  it  in  advance! 
MousiE.  I'll  give  you  half  of  it — there ! 

The  'procession  has  begun  to  stream  down  the  path.  At 
that  moment  a  train  passes  across  the  bridge.  Falk 
is  now  dressed  in  ordinary  clothes.  He  is  in  the  rear 
and  a  little  behind  the  rest.  As  he  appears,  Herre 
meets  him  and  tries  to  get  by  him. 
Falk.  Why,  dear  me — isn't  this  Otto  Herre — our  niagister 
bibendi  ? 

Herre.  [Saluting  him]  Yes,  your  grace!  That  is,  what  is 
left  of  him. 

Falk.  [To  himself]  Dear  me,  dear  me! 

[He  begins  to  search  all  his  pockets. 
Herre.  And  yet,  take  it  all  in  all,  perhaps  the  better  part 
of  him.     But  the  times  have  not  been  very  propitious,  your 
grace. 

Falk.  No,  I  can  see  that.  [In  a  lowered  voice]  Come  to  me 
if  you  get  real  hard  up.  To-day  I  haven't — I  have  really 
given  away  what  little  I  had.  Here's  half  a  crown — it's  all  I 
have. 

Herre.  Thanks,    your    grace!     Many    thousand    thanks. 

It's  as  I  have  always  told  the  people  here :  it's  your  heart  that 

makes  you  a  man  of  genius.  [He  starts  to  leave. 

MousiE.  [Who  has  been  hiding  behind  a  corner,  intercepts 

Herre  on  his  way  up]  But — but ? 

Herre.  You  didn't  give  me  more  than  half. 

[He  disappears. 
Falk.  [To  Hans  Braa]  Could  you  believe  that  that  man  is 
timid  and  shrinking  when  sober.''     If  I  were  like  him,  I  sup- 
pose I  should  be  drinking,  too. 

Braa.  Yes,  we  know.     We  have  often  noticed  it. 

Falk.  He's  like  the  Rose  of  Jericho:  drv  as  dust  and  a 


126  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  acti 

commonplace  grey.  But  wlien  you  put  it  into  water,  it 
begins  to  expand,  and  it  smiles  like  the  Lord's  own  day. — 
Well,  folks,  I  tolcl  you  up  there,  at  the  graves,  that  I  had 
something  on  my  heart  which  it  would  be  more  fitting  to 
speak  of  down  here.  [lie  ascends  the  stoop,  and  tJic  people 
group  themselves  around  him]  What  I  began  with  up  there, 
and  what  I  ended  with  as  well,  was  this:  we  must  not  judge 
her!  That  must  be  left  to  Him  who  knows  us  all.  Peace 
be  to  her  outworn  heart!  Peace  to  her  name  when  men- 
tioned among  us ! — The  worst  feature  of  things  like  this  strike 
here  is  that  they  bring  so  many  to  despair.  Some  say  it 
happens  only  to  the  weakest.  What  I  say  is  that  it  happens 
to  the  finest,  to  those  who  feel  their  responsibility  most 
keenly,  and  who  for  that  reason  often  are  the  best.  Just  as 
the  best,  as  a  rule,  suffer  more,  take  upon  themselves  greater 
sacrifices,  and  pay  more  of  the  cost.  [It  is  evident  that  the  work- 
men agree  with  him  in  this]  I  don't  want  to  put  the  blame  on 
anybody.  But  I  suppose  there  is  more  than  one  of  you  who 
have  discovered  how  dreadful  it  is  when  the  children  come 
crying:  "I  want  something  more  to  eat — oh,  mamma,  I  want 
something  more  to  eat."  [Tlie  croiod  is  stirred;  he  continues 
quietly]  I  contribute  my  own  mite  every  daj'. 

A  Man.  [In  subdued  tones]  Yes,  you've  been  good  to  us. 

Several.  [In  the  same  icaij]  Yes,  you  have. 

Falk.  Otherwise  I  shouldn't  have  the  right  to  come  here 
and  say  anything  at  all.  My  opinion,  my  advice,  is,  that  a 
strike  as  big  as  this  one — the  biggest  we  have  ever  had — 
mustn't  last  long.  An  unexpected  amount  of  help  has  come 
from  the  outside.  But  there  are  too  many  mouths  to  be  fed. 
There  are  already  those  who  know  what  hunger  means. 
And  many  more  will  have  to  learn  it.  But  nothing  is  more 
contagious  than  despair.  Bear  that  in  mind!  And  so  a  time 
will  come — may  come  sooner  than  you  expect  now — when  no 


ACT  I  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  127 

one  remains  capable  of  controlling  the  forces  that  have  been 
let  loose.     I  have  seen  signs  of  violence  and  murder 

Blind  Andeks.  Yes,  violence  and  murder! 

Falk.  What  was  that  you  said,  old  man? 

Braa.  Oh,  Anders,  he's  got  only  one  thing  to  talk  of. 

Falk.  Well,  let  him  talk! 

Blind  Anders.  It  was  this  thing  that  happened — my 
poor 

Falk.  Don't  I  know  it.^     Didn't  we  follow  her  together? 

Blind  Anders.  No,  not  her.  I  had  another  daughter, 
younger  than  her — who  got  a  place  up  there  in  the  city,  in 
one  of  the  fine  houses.  And  there  they  laid  violent  hands 
on  her. 

Falk.  Yes,  yes.  We  remember.  But  that  isn't  the  ques- 
tion now,  Anders. 

Blind  Anders.  But  you  were  talking  of  "violence  and 
murder."  That  was  violence.  And  she  took  it  so  hard  that 
it  ended  in  murder,  too.     God  help  us  and  protect  us ! 

Falk.  My  dear  Anders,  we  know  all  this.  [He  remains  si- 
lent for  a  ivhile]  To  get  back  to  our  present  problem — despair 
is  a  dangerous  comrade,  and  it  is  already  present  among  you. 
You  must  act  in  such  fashion  that  you  are  not  held  respon- 
sible for  what  was  never  in  your  own  minds. 

Braa.  It's  those  people  up  in  the  city  who  are  responsible. 

Falk.  The  past,  Hans  Braa,  is  more  to  blame  than  the 
present.  And  those  who  bear  the  blame  in  the  present  are 
generally  found  on  both  sides. 

Braa.  No,  it's  all  with  them,  up  there! 

Falk.  Not  all  of  it! 

Several.  Yes,  yes,  all  of  it! 

Falk.  Do  you  dare  to  declare  yourself  quite  free  from 
blame? 

All.  Yes,  yes! 


128  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  act-i 

Falk.  Now  your  temper  is  up  because  you  have  been  suffer- 
ing. And  I  shall  say  no  more  about  it.  But  if  you  want 
peace,  then  it's  of  no  use  for  you  to  look  uj)on  the  others  as  a 
lot  of  thieves. 

Braa.  But  when  they  are  thieves? 

Several.  You  bet  they  are! 

Falk.  Like  those  that  were  crucified,  pcrhajis.  You  know, 
even  thieves  may  be  converted. 

Peter  Stua.  Reg'lar  beasts  of  prey,  that's  what  they  are! 

Falk.  That's  going  it  one  better!  But  let  me  tell  jou 
something  now:  you  should  leave  threats  and  defiances  to  the 
rich.  Theirs  has  been  the  power,  and  so  they  have  grown 
accustomed  to  be  brutal  and  to  settle  everything  by  force. 
Don't  be  stupid  enough  to  take  after  them.  Poverty  has  cer- 
tain advantages  which  no  wealth  can  gain.  Don't  throw 
them  away !     Poverty  has  its  own  blessings 

Braa.  Have  you  tried  'em,  pastor.^ 

Falk.  I  know  rich  and  poor  alike,  and  in  many  things  the 
poor  are  better  off  than  the  rich. 

Hans  Olsen.  Yes,  in  rags  and  vermin. 

Falk.  That's  your  experience.'  [.4  feiv  laugh]  I'll  tell  you 
in  what  respects  I  think  the  poor  are  better  off.  They  often 
know  how  to  be  content  with  very  little.  They  are  always 
kind  to  each  other — truly  self-sacrificing,  that's  what  they 
are.     And  they  have  more  patience,  more  forbearance 

A  Coarse  Male  Voice.  [From  a  house  high  up  on  the  Uft 
side  of  the  chasm]  Why  don't  you  go  and  tell  that  to  the  rich? 
Everybody  turns  to  look  in  the  direction  from  u-hich  the 
voice  came. 

Falk.  I  have  done  so!  I  cringe  no  more  to  the  rich  than 
to  the  poor. 

Coarse  Male  Voice.  Aw,  we  don't  want  auy  more  of 
that  Sundav-school  drivel  down  here! 


ACT  I  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  1^29 

A  Female  Voice.  [Heard  as  before  from-  the  right,  far  up 
along  the  hillside]  Why  don't  you  listen  instead,  you  Muck- 
Peter  over  there?  You're  the  dirtiest  bum  in  all  Hell,  you 
are! 

Coarse  Male  Voice.  Aw,  shut  up,  you ! 

Falk.  That  kind  of  forces — if  despair  is  added  to  them— 
you  think  you  can  control  them?  No  more  than  I  can  con- 
trol the  sea  out  there! — And  now  I  want  to  tell  you — for  they 
have  been  to  see  me — that  there  are  those  among  you  who 
would  like  to  go  back  to  work  again 

Peter  Stua.  Just  let  'em  try! 

Several.  [In  quick  succession]  Is  that  true? 

Almost  Everybody.  Yes,  let  'em  try!  [Wild  excitement 
seizes  the  crowd]  We'll  'tend  to  them!  Tell  us  who  they  are! 
Names!  Names!  [Finally  the  crowd  yells  in  time]  Names! 
Names ! 

Falk.  [With  a  gesture  of  authority  that  stills  the  uproar] 
Now  you  have  violence  in  mind!  If  you  knew  them,  you 
would  use  violence  against  them !  And  when  it  comes  to  that, 
then  murder  is  not  far  off!  [Deep  silence]  Then  more  than 
one  of  you  would  be  ruined  for  life.  And  so  would  your  chil- 
dren and  your  poor  wives 

Blind  Anders.  That's  true! 

Braa.  The  people  up  there  would  have  to  answer  for  it. 

Falk.  Yes,  if  you  could  make  them  see  that,  then 

Peter  Stua.  They'll  have  to  see  it! 

Aspelund.  The  day  will  come  when  they'll  see  it. 

Falk.  But  for  that  day  you  cannot  wait.  You  must  deal 
with  them  as  they  are,  both  men  and  conditions.  Water 
won't  run  down-hill  faster  than  the  grade  demands.  To  me 
it  looks  as  if  the  Lord  wanted  you  to  practise  patience  until 
His  time  comes.  And  frequently  it  comes  when  we  least 
expect  it. 


130  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  i 

Coarse  Male  Voice.  [From  the  left  as  before]  Aw,  why 
the  devil  don't  you  quit? 

Falk.  You  won't  get  very  far  by  calling  for  the  devil, 
folks!     I  fear  you'll  have  to  turn  to  Him  who  patiently  lets 

His  sun  rise  over  good  and  evil 

Female  Voice.  [From  the  right]  There  comes  Bratt! 

Several.  Who — Bratt. ^ 

Braa.  Yes,  he  promised  to  come  to-day. 

A  Man.  [Who  has  run  up  the  path]  Yes,  it's  him! 

All  turn  around.     A  few  move  toward  the  background: 
others  follow  them  gradually.     At  last  only  three  old 
women  remain  near  Falk. 
Falk.  Well — why  don't  you  go  with  the  rest.' 
An  Old  Woman.  [Embarrassed]  No,  you're   too   nice   for 
that. 

Falk.  Three — it  isn't  much!     But  then  they  mean  it,  at 
least!  [He  steps  down  from  the  stoop. 

Braa.  [In  the  background]  Three  cheers  for  Bratt! 

The  crowd  breaks  into  wild  cheering.     Bratt.  ivho  be- 
comes visible  at  the  bend  leading  to  the  right,  waves  his 
hand  to  silence  them,  but  without  effect.     The  ovation 
continues  uninterruptedly  until  he  reaches  the  stoop. 
Bratt  mounts  it,  and  for  a  while  silence  reigns. 
Bratt.  'Way  up  there,  where  I  was  standing,  I  could  hear 
my  predecessor  in  this  parish  say  that  the  Lord  patiently  lets 
His  sun  shine  upon  good  and  evil  alike.     What  I  want  to  say 
first  of  all  is  that,  down  here,  the  sun  never  shines. 
The  crotvd  laughs  aiul  repeats  the  last  tvords. 
Bratt.  I  have  really  met  those  who  don't  know  that  we 
down  here  are  living  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  river.     There 
used  to  be  falls  in  the  river,  not  far  from  its  mouth.     Those 
falls  ate  their  way  further  and  further  back.     That's  what 


ACT  I  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  131 

made  this  cleft  in  which  we  live.  And  that's  what  led  to  the 
discovery  of  all  the  wealth  in  the  rocks  on  both  sides  of  the 
river.  Then  they  turned  the  water  aside  and  started  min- 
ing. That's  what  made  the  big  city  up  there.  But  all  the 
reward  the  workmen  got  for  what  they  dragged  out  into  the 
sunlight  was  that  they  were  thrust  out  of  the  sunlight  them- 
selves, down  into  this  place.  They  earned  so  much  for  the 
others  that  the  ground  up  there  became  too  expensive  for 
poor  people.  And  so  they  had  to  be  satisfied  with  what  they 
could  get  for  nothing  down  here.  But  to  this  place  the  sun 
never  comes. 

The  people  talk  among  themselves. 

Braa.  That's  the  way  it  is. 

Falk.  [Before  he  leaves]  Be  careful  now,  Bratt! 

Bratt.  [Looks  for  a  moment  at  Falk;  then  he  resumes]  Little 
by  little  it  became  the  rule  that  all  who  went  to  waste  up 
there  in  the  big  city,  or  who  wasted  themselves,  were  cast 
down  here 

Braa.  Human  garbage! 

Bratt.  Into  "Hell,"  as  they  soon  began  to  call  it.  .  .  . 
Here  it  is  dark  and  cold.  Here  few  work  hopefully,  and  no 
one  joyfully.  Here  the  children  won't  thrive — they  yearn  for 
the  sea  and  the  daylight.  They  crave  the  sun.  But  it 
lasts  only  a  little  while,  and  then  they  give  up.  They  learn 
that  among  those  who  have  been  cast  down  here  there  is 
rarely  one  who  can  climb  up  again. 

Several.  That's  right. 

Bratt.  Here  we  are  now.  But  those  who  own  all  that 
vacant  land  we  call  Sunnywold  have  just  told  us  that  it  is 
something  we  cannot  have.  And  at  the  highest  point  of  that 
land,  where  the  old  fort  used  to  stand,  there  Holger  has  reared 
his  new  palace — and  there,  in  "The  Castle,"  representatives 
of  the  factory  owners  from  all  over  the  country  are  to  meet 


132  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  acti 

tliis  evening.  There  they  are  to  discuss  how  they  can  hold 
us  down  so  that  we  may  never  get  up. 

Coarse  Male  Voice.  [From  the  left]  Yes,  let  'em  try! 

Bratt.  I  ask  you,  for  Heaven's  sake:  let  them  by  all  means 
gather  up  there.  That  castle  was  built  while  the  distress 
was  increasing  all  around  the  country — as  if  in  spite.  It  is 
quite  as  it  should  be  that  they  meet  there  and  give  us  their 
answer  from  there.  I  am  told  that  the  whole  castle  will  be 
illuminated  to-night! 

Coarse  Male  Voice.  Yes,  let  'em  try! 

All.  [As  before]  Yes,  let  'em  try,  let  'em  try ! 

Bratt.  But,  friends,  don't  you  understand  that  nothing 
could  be  better  for  us.'  This  very  day,  when  we  have  fol- 
lowed Maren  and  her  two  children  to  their  graves 

Blind  Anders.  Yes,  Maren 

Bratt.  Then  they  start  an  illumination!  [Excitement  and 
anger  are  sliown  by  ths  crowd]  By  all  means,  let  them  go  on 
like  that!  It  will  bring  us  many  friends  we  didn't  have  be- 
fore. And  more  than  one  will  tremble  before  the  God  who 
is  thus  mocked.  Let  them  illuminate!  Those  people  who 
have  taken  the  sun  away  from  you!  [The  croud  mutters]  Yt)U 
know,  don't  you,  that  everything  that  carries  infect it)n  is  best 
at  home  where  the  sun  cannot  reach  it.'  The  sun  kills  off  the 
microbes — those  of  the  soul  as  well  as  of  the  body.  The  sun 
gives  strength  and  cunning.  The  sun  is  company.  The  sun 
breeds  faith!  All  this  is  known  by  the  rich  people  up  there. 
They  learn  it  at  school — and  yet  they  let  you  live  down  here! 
They  have  let  you  live  here  where  disease  and  rottenness  live 
side  bj^  side  with  you — here,  where  children  lose  their  colour 
and  thoughts  their  clearness — here,  where  clothes  and  minds 
alike  grow  mouldy.  They  have  preachers  and  churches; 
they  have  hymns  and  prayers;  they  have  a  tiny  bit  of 
charity,  too — but  a  God   they  have  not.   [Excitement]   Can 


ACT  I  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  133 

we  wait  until  they  get  one?  Generation  after  generation,  in 
misery  and  sin? — What  was  it  that  happened  here  three  days 
ago?  For  whom  were  the  bells  tolling  to-day?  And  we  ask 
if  it  is  possible  to  wait?  A  few  homes  for  workmen  here  and 
there — do  they  end  the  bitter  need  of  thousands?  What  is 
there  to  herald  the  coming  of  better  things?  A  new  genera- 
tion up  there?  Listen  to  what  their  young  people  answer  for 
themselves:  "We  want  a  good  time!"  And  their  books? 
The  books  and  the  youth  together  make  the  future.  And 
what  do  the  books  say?  Exactly  the  same  as  the  youth: 
"Let  us  have  a  good  time!  Ours  are  the  light  and  the  lust 
of  life,  its  colours  and  its  joys!"  That's  what  the  youth  and 
their  books  say. — They  are  right!  It  is  all  theirs!  There  is 
no  law  to  prevent  their  taking  life's  sunlight  and  joy  away 
from  the  poor  people.  For  those  who  have  the  sun  have  also 
made  the  law. — But  then  the  next  question  is  whether  we 
might  not  scramble  up  high  enough  to  take  part  in  the  writing 
of  a  new  law.  [This  is  received  ivith  thundering  cheers]  What 
is  needed  is  that  one  generation  makes  an  effort  strong 
enough  to  raise  all  coming  generations  into  the  vigorous  life 
of  full  sunlight. 

Many.  Yes,  yes. 

Bratt,  But  so  far  every  generation  has  put  it  off  on  the 
next  one.  Until  at  last  our  turn  has  come  to  bear  sacrifices 
and  sufferings  like  unto  those  of  death  itself.  Only  a  little 
while  ago  we  saw  one  of  us  break  down  under  them.  But  are 
you  aware  that  she  has  not  died  in  vain?  Her  desperation  has 
struck  panic  in  more  than  one  conscience.  Never  before  have 
the  contributions  to  the  strike  fund  poured  in  as  they  did 
yesterday  and  to-day.  Several  have  given  large  sums — 
from  one  man  alone  we  got  two  thousand  to-day. 
This  neivs  is  received  with  enthusiasm. 

Blind  Anders.  [With  emotion]  You  don't  tell  me! 


134  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  i 

Bratt.  What  do  you  say  about  remembering  her — her 
fears  and  her  sufferings?  As  a  symbol  of  the  misery  we  want 
to  end?  As  a  cry  of  help  from  all  those  generations  that  liave 
perished?     As  a  desperate  prayer  for  deliverance? 

All.  [Deeply  moved]  Yes,  yes! 

Bratt.  And  let  us  all  try  our  utmost  in  self-sacrifice!  I 
am  now  getting  along  with  one  half  of  what  I  generally  live 
on.  No  one  knows  how  long  the  ordeal  will  last.  I  have 
persuaded  many  others  to  do  like  me.  And  they  agree  with 
me,  that  it  feels  like  a  consecration.  As  I  stand  here  now,  my 
hands  are  aflame  and  I  seem  to  be  charged  with  electricity. 
My  senses  are  more  keen,  my  faculties  more  clear — fused,  as 
they  are,  into  a  passion  for  sacrifice.  .  .  .  You  must  practise 
the  art  of  doing  without!  Controlling  yourself,  you  control 
those  others  who  need  to  be  guided — and  of  those  there  is 
enough! — Kei>p  up  your  courage!  Every  day  brings  new  sup- 
port from  all  quarters.  Never  before  have  the  workers  stood 
so  close  to  their  goal.  Never  before  have  we  been  united  to 
the  same  extent.  Never  have  we  had  a  firmer  grip  or  a  bet- 
ter foothold.  O  that  it  might  be  granted  the  generation 
which  is  ours — that  it  might  be  granted  vs — to  raise  the 
workers  of  this  country  out  of  the  darkness  and  the  <lampness 
for  all  time  to  come — out  of  the  cellar  holes,  so  that  they  may 
live  on  the  sunlit  side  of  life! 

A  wave  of  emotion  passes  through  the  crowd. 

Bratt.  [Who  has  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  says  quietly 
as  he  looks  up  at  the  crowd  again]  Yoji  had  better  go  up  to  the 
strike  office.  The  money  is  ready  for  you.  [Tliere  is  a  lot  of 
happy  excitement]  And  when  you  have  got  your  money,  you 
must  select  the  committee  that  is  to  call  on  INIr.  Holger  to-day. 
You  remember — he  is  to  have  his  answer  to-day. 

Everybody  looks  happier.    Matiy  go  up  to  Bratt  to  press 
his  hand  as  he  steps  dowu  from  the  stoop.      Then  they 


ACT  I  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  135 

hurry  away  toward  the  city  in  groups,  eagerly  talking. 
Just  as  Bratt  himself  is  about  to  leave,  after  all  the 
rest  are  gone,  Elias  appears. 

Elias.  {Coining  from  one  of  the  houses  at  the  right]    Bratt! 

Bratt.  Elias!  [Hurries  toward  him  and  leads  him  down 
the  stage]  At  last!  Where  have  j'ou  been?  Just  when  we 
needed  you  most,  you  disappeared. 

Elias.  I,  too,  had  my  work  to  do. 

Bratt.  Do  you  think  I  doubt  it? 

Elias.  [Smiling]  And,  for  that  matter,  you  have  seen  me. 

Bratt.  Without  knowing  you? 

Elias.  Yes.     But — what  did  you  want  me  for? 

Bratt.  First  of  all,  I  was  afraid  that  the  money  we  have 
been  receiving — that  entirely  too  much  of  it  came  from  you. 
And  I  wanted  to  warn  you,  Elias. 

Elias.  Thanks!  Do  you  know  who  was  the  last  man 
Maren  Haug  talked  with? 

Bratt.  You? 

Elias.  Yes,  me. 

Bratt.  What  did  she  say?     That  she  was  in  despair ? 

Elias.  She  said:  "Some  one  has  to  die."  That's  what  she 
said.  "They'll  never  pay  any  attention  to  us  before,"  she 
said. 

Bratt.  Was  that  what  she  said — ?  A  case  of  conscious 
martyrdom,  then?     Do  you  think  so? 

Elias.  I  do. 

Bratt.  But  more  than  one  martyr  has  been  out  of  his  rea- 
son. 

Elias.  So  they  have. 

Bratt.  And  the  whiskey?  Everybody  says  that  she  had 
been  drinking. 

Elias.  To  get  courage,  yes!  Which  is  only  one  more 
proof,  it  seems  to  me. 


136  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  i 

Bhatt.  Why  didn't  she  ask  us  for  more  assistance?  She 
wouhl  have  got  it. 

Elias.  I,  too,  offered  to  help  lier. 

Bratt.  And  then? 

Elias.  "I  will  only  take  it  from  outsiders,"  she  said. 

Buatt.  Really! — Yes,  there  was  scjraething  remarkable 
about  that  woman. — But  it  is  wonderful !  Oh,  there  is  much 
that  is  great  among  the  poor  people  down  here. — So  she 
offered  herself  as  a  sacrifice? 

Elias.  I  am  sure  of  it. 

Bratt.  lean  see  that  it  has  made  a  deep  impression  on  you. 
[Elias  7iods  assent]  You  don't  look  well.  You  ought  to  go  to 
your  sister.     Have  you  seen  her  recently? 

Elias.  Not  in  the  last  few  days. — Do  you  recall  that  re- 
markable boy  and  girl  who  were  with  her — the  children  of 
Sommer? 

Bratt.  Of  course!     It  would  be  impossible  to  forget  them. 

Elias.  They  are  not  with  her  any  longer. 

Bratt.  What  does  that  mean?  They  were  given  to  your 
sister,  were  they  not? 

Elias.  No,  their  uncle  has  taken  them  now. 

Bratt.  Holger?  But  the  last  thing  Sommer  said  was  that 
your  sister  should  have  them. 

Euas.  That  didn't  matter.  Now  the  uncle  has  taken 
them.  "Their  parents  are  dead,"  he  said,  "and  I  am  their 
parents.  I  am  going  to  make  them  my  heirs,  and  they  are 
to  be  brought  up  in  accordance  with  my  will." 

Bratt.  In  accordance  with  his  will!  So  they  are  also  to 
become  sweaters  of  labour? 

Elias.  Of  course.  Those  people  take  the  future  itself 
away  from  us.  It's  a  thing  that  haunts  me  night  and  day — 
even  more  than  what  happened  to  Maren.  For  it  is  worse. 
Think  only,  that  they  take  the  very  future  away  from  us. 


ACT  I  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  137 

Bratt.  {Looking  him  firmly  in  the  eye]  That  kind  of  feeling 
should  be  turned  into  action,  Elias! 

Elias.  [Meeting  his  glance  firmly]  Well,  there  is  no  doubt 
about  that! 

Bratt.  [Putting  his  arm  within  that  of  Elias]  Do  j-ou  re- 
member how  you  and  your  sister  came  to  me  down  here? 

Elias.  Now,  that's  strange! 

Bratt.  What  is? 

Elias.  Your  mentioning  that.  For  it  is  just  what  I  have 
been  thinking  of  all  day. 

Bratt.  You  came  so  radiantly.  You  had  just  got  your  in- 
heritance from  that  American  aunt  of  yours.    You  were  rich. 

Elias.  And  we  came  to  find  out  what  we  could  do  with  it. 

Bratt.  I  showed  you  what  I  was  doing.  Your  sister 
wouldn't  join  us — it  was  untried  ground,  she  said.  And  in- 
stead she  bought  land  and  built  her  hospital  up  there.  But 
you 

Elias.  [Placing  his  free  hand  on  that  of  Bratt]  I  chose  to 
stay  with  you! 

Bratt.  [Pointing  in  the  direction  from  which  Elias  first 
appeared]  And  the  day  you  bought  that  miserable  little  house 
you  were  as  happj'  as  a  lark. 

Elias.  And  I  haven't  regretted  it  once.  To  me  this  is  the 
only  kind  of  life  worth  living. 

Bratt.  [Gravely]  But  how  is  it  then,  Elias,  that  something 
has  come  between  you  and  me.^ 

Elias.  What  are  you  talking  about. ^ 

Bratt.  I  can  hear  it  in  the  ring  of  your  voice  right  now! 
I  could  see  it  in  you  before  you  had  spoken  a  word — that 
there  is  somebody  who  has  taken  you  away  from  me! 

Elias.  [Freeing  himself]  Nobody  could!  Nothing  but 
death! 

Bratt.  But  something  has  happened ? 


138  BEYOND  HUMAN   MIGHT  acti 

Elias.  So  it  has. 

Bratt.  [Am-ioudy]  What  is  it? 

Elias.  [After  a  moment's  thought]  You  ask  me  so  many 
questions.     May  I  ask  you  just  one  ? 

Bratt.  My  dear  boy,  what  is  it? 

Elias.  [With  a  peculiar forcejulness]  Both  of  us  l)elieve  that 
God  is  something  we  liave  to  work  out  within  ourselves. 

Bratt.  Yes. 

Elias.  That  He  is  evident  in  the  eternal  order  of  the  uni- 
verse, and  that  to  man  this  order  means  justice — the  growth 
of  justice. 

Bratt.  And  of  goodness. 

Elias.  But  isn't  He  evident  in  war  also?  Could  He  stand 
outside  of  that? 

Bratt.  Is  thai  your  question? 

Elias.  Yes. 

Bratt.  [After  having  looked  at  him  for  a  inornent]  There  are 
so  many  kinds  of  war. 

Elias.  This  is  the  kind  I  am  thinking  of:  to  sacrifice  one- 
self in  order  to  destroy  those  that  will  evil. 

Bratt.  If  that  kind  of  war  comes  within  the  order  that  is 
justice ? 

Elias.  Yes, 

A  Man  in  Brown  has  stolen  up  close  to  them  irithoiit 
being  noticed  hij  either  one  of  them.  At  this  moment 
he  puts  his  head  in  between  them,  with  his  face  close  to 
that  of  Bratt. 

Bratt.  Ugh!  What  is  the  use  of  that  sort  of  thing?  Why 
must  he  always  come  like  that  ? 

Man  in  Brown.  [Crouching  on  his  haunches,  with  his  hands 
resting  on  hbs  knees,  begins  to  laugh  wildly]  Ha — ha — ha — ha! 
He  hops  around  like  a  bird  until,  at  a  sign  from  Elias, 
he  suddenly  disappears. 


ACT  I  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  139 

Bratt.  Is  it  never  possible  to  have  a  talk  with  you  without 
that  fellow  getting  in  between  us? 

Elias.  What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  He  has  attached 
himself  to  me.  It  is  his  one  happiness  in  this  world.  Do  you 
want  me  to  chase  him  away? 

Bratt.  No,  of  course,  I  don't.  But  can't  you  keep  him 
from  breaking  in  like  that  whenever  anybody  is  talking  to 
you?     That's  too  much. 

Elias.  He  thinks  it's  funny.  WTiy  not  let  him  do  it,  then? 
Otherwise  he  suffers  so  terribly.  This  very  day  I  have  had 
to  promise  him  that  we  are  to  live  and  die  together. 

Bratt.  What  does  that  mean? 

Elias.  Oh,  at  times  he  has  wonderfully  lucid  moments. 
So  I  had  to  promise  him. 

Bratt.  You  are  too  good,  Elias. 

Elias.  No,  /  am  not  too  good,  but  mankind  has  too  much 
to  bear.  He  with  the  rest.  He  is  one  of  those  Holger  drove 
out  of  his  employ  because  they  dared  to  vote  our  ticket.  It 
was  more  than  the  man  could  face,  and  so  he  went  to  pieces, 
and  was  thrust  down  to  us. 

Bratt.  I  know  it. 

Elias.  Well — and  then  he  began  to  follow  me  wherever  I 
went.  He  would  be  crouching  outside  my  house  like  a  dog, 
so  I  had  to  let  him  in. 

Bratt.  But  when  you  give  yourself  to  everybody  like  that 
—then  you  impair  your  efficiency  where  it  is  most ■ 

Elias.  [Interrupting]  Pardon  me  for  interrupting  you,  but 
I  am  so  restless  to-day.  I  cannot  stand  still  and  listen.  And 
I  have  so  little  time  to  spare.  I  really  came  here  just  to  see 
you.     I  wanted  so  badly  to  have  a  look  at  you! 

Bratt.  But  what  we  were  talking  of,  Elias 

Elias.  Don't  let  us  talk  of  it  any  more! 

Bratt.  Are  we  not  to  talk  of  it? 


140  BEYOND  HUMAN   MIGHT  acti 

Elias.  Afterward  you  will  understand  so  much  better. 
I  cannot  stand  seeing  so  much  wrong-doing!  I  cannot  stand 
hearing  that  the  others  are  going  to  win ! 

Bratt.  Are  the  others  going  to  win,  you  say?  Has  it  got 
so  far  with  you,  that  you  can  believe  such  a  thing  for  a 
moment? 

Elias.  That  far — yes!  [Putting  his  hands  around  Bratt's 
head]  I  do  love  you!  For  all  that  you  have  been  to  me. 
From  the  first  day  you  picked  mc  up  here — until  your  present 
moment  of  alarm. 

Bratt.  Yes,  Elias,  you  do 

EuAS.  Now  you  must  be  quiet.  I  love  you  who  everlast- 
ingly dare  to  believe,  and  to  live  in  accordance  with  your 
belief.  You  who  take  hold  so  that  the  whole  country  can 
feel  it.  You  whose  cry  goes  right  into  our  souls:  "Courage, 
courage!"  To  the  youth  that  means:  "Push  ahead — farther 
still!" 

Beatt.  [Frightened]  But  farther  than  this,  Elia^— that 
would  be  to 

Elias.  You  mustn't  say  anything.     Nor  must  I! 

He  throws  his  arms  around  Bratt,  hugging  him  as 
hard  as  he  can;  then  he  lets  him  go  only  to  take  hold  of 
his  head  ivith  both  hands;  having  kissed  him  twice,  he 
lets  him  go  again,  and  rutis  out  in  the  direction  from 
which  he  first  appeared. 

Bratt.  But,  Elias — ?  You  have  no  right  to  run  away 
without  telling  me  what  it  is.— Still  further—?  Now?  Hor- 
rible! [He  runs  after  Elias]  It  must  be  stopped!  [He  calls  out 
with  all  his  might]  Elias!  [.4s  the  curtain  falls,  he  is  still  heard 
crying]  Listen,  Elias!     Elias! 

Curtain, 


ACT  II 

An  artistically  furnished  library  of  lofty  proportions.  The  entire 
rear  wall  is  covered  by  drapery.  At  the  left  there  is  an 
arched  windoiv,  reaching  from  the  floor  to  the  ceiling.  The 
walls  on  both  sides  of  the  window  are  covered  with  book- 
shelves that  also  reach  to  the  ceiling.  At  the  right,  facing 
the  window,  there  is  an  arched  doorway,  which  is  likewise 
flanked  by  bookshelves.  A  table  stands  in  the  foreground 
toward  the  left.  A  number  of  architectural  drawings  are 
lying  on  the  table. 

HoLGER.  [Seated  in  a  huge  armchair  that  stands  between  the 
table  and  the  foremost  bookcase]  Then  there  is  nothing  but  the 
basement  floor  to  be  changed? 

Halden.  [Standing]  Yes,  and  not  much  of  that.  But  then 
there  is  the  extension. 

HoLGER.  The  extension.^  There  is  not  going  to  be  any 
extension.     Did  I  forget  to  tell  you  about  that.'' 

Halden.  You  did. 

HoLGER.  The  extension  was  meant  for  my  nephew  and 
niece.  At  that  time  we  took  for  granted  that  they  were 
going  to  live  with  Miss  Sang. 

Halden.  Oh,  are  they  not  to  live  with  Miss  Sang? 

HoLGER.  They  are  to  live  with  me.  [Pause. 

Halden.  Then  there  is  hardly  anything  left  to  do. 

HoLGER.  There  is  no  reason,  then,  why  Miss  Sang  shouldn't 
move  in.     What  do  you  say? 

Halden.  As  I  understand  it,  she  was  going  to  move  in 
to-day. 

141 


142  BEYOND   HUMAx\   MIGHT  actii 

HoLGER.  [Looking  hard  at  Haldex]  You  haven't  seen  her? 
Haldex.  [Without  looking  at  Holger]  Not  for  a  long  while. 

A  knocking  at  the  door  is  heard,  and  Halden  hastens  to 
open  it. 
Holger.  [Rising  at  once  and  going  toward  the  door]  There 
she  is  now,  perhaps. 

Halden  opens  the  door. 
Braa.  [Still  outside]  Is  Holger  here? 
Holger.  [Seating  himself  again]  Here  I  am. 
Halden.  A  delegation  of  workmen. 
Holger.  So  I  can  hear 


Halden.  Well — can  they  come 


Holger.  Oh,  yes,  let  them ! 

Hans  Braa,  Aspelund,  old  Anders  Hoel,  Henrik 
Sem,  Hans  Olsen,  and  Peter  Stua  e?iter. 

Holger.  [Seated  as  before]  Who  is  that  blind  old  man.^ 

Braa.  That's  Anders  Hoel — he's  the  father  of  her 

Holger.  Is  he  employed  in  any  of  the  factories  here  in 
town? 

Braa.  No,  but  his  children 

Holger.  I  won't  negotiate  with  anybody  but  the  workmen 
from  the  factories. 

Braa.  He's  the  father  of  Maren — her  that  we  buried  to- 
day— her  and  her  two  children.  And  so  it  seemed  kind  of 
proper,  as  we  thought,  that  he  should  come  along  and  speak 
for 

Holger.  That's  all  right.     Take  him  outside. 
Nobody  moves.     Nobody  answers. 

Blind  Anders.  Am  I  to  be  put  out? 

Braa.  So  he  says. 

Blind  Anders.  [Quietly]  Is  there  anybody  can  tell  more 
than  I  about  the  hard  times  down  there? 

Braa.  But  he  won't  have  it,  don't  you  see? 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  143 

Blind  Anders.  We-ell?     But  he  ought  to  know  Maren 
ain't  the  only  one  I've  lost. 

HoLGER.  Take  that  man  out  so  we  can  start — eh.^ 

Halden.  Come,  Anders,  I'll  help  you  out. 

Blind  Anders.  Who're  you?     Seems  to  me  I  know  your 


Halden.  This  way,  Anders. 

Blind  Anders.  No,  I  won't!  I've  been  elected,  I  tell 
you! 

Several.  [At  once]  You  must! 

Braa.  We  can't  get  anything  done  before,  don't  you  see! 

Blind  Anders.  Oh,  you  can't?  Well,  well — then  I  want 
to  say  a  couple  of  words  first. 

Halden.  No,  no,  Anders! 

Several.  Naw! 

Blind  Anders.  So  you  think — ?  All  I  wanted  to  tell  him 
was  that  if  she  was  here  now,  that  smallest  girl  of  mine — that 
poor  little  thing,  what- 

Holger.  [Rising]  Get  out,  all  of  you!     Eh? 

AsPELUND.  [To  Blind  Anders]  Can't  you  hear?     That's 
no  joke!     And  it's  we  that'll  have  to  pay. 
Holger  seats  himself  again. 

Blind  Anders.  Well,  then  we'll  be  quits.  For  what 
you've  done,  I've  had  to  pay  for. 

Halden.  Oh,  be  sensible  now,  Anders!  Come  along  with 
me! 

Blind  Anders.  Who're  you  anyhow? 

Braa.  It's  Halden,  don't  you  know? 

Blind  Anders.  Oh,  it's  Halden!  He's  all  right,  they  say. 
Well — well,  I'll  go  along  with  Halden. 

Halden.  That's  a  good  fellow!  And  I'll  see  that  you  get 
something  to  brace  you  up. 


144  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  n 

Blind  Anders.  But  we're  in  that  man  Holger's  house, 
ain't  we? 

Halden.  Yes. 

Blind  Anders.  Of  course,  I  ain't  had  nothing  to  eat  but 
scraps  o'  bread  for  two  days,  but  sooner  than  eat  a  bite  or 
drink  a  drop  of  that  man  Holger's — [loith  deep  einotion]  sooner 
I'd  do  like  them  girls  o'  mine. 

Halden.  It's  my  own,  what  you're  going  to  have. 

Blind  Anders.  Oh,  so!     Oh,  well — yes — well 

Halden.  Now  we'll  go,  then? 

Blind  Anders.  Now  we'll  go.  [Takes  a  step  toward  tlie  door 
and  turns  around  again\  But  now  you'll  have  to  tell  that  man 
Holger —     Yes,  you  know,  he  is  still  sitting  over  there! 

Several.  Get  out  now,  x\nders! 

Blind  Anders.  [In  a  thunderous  voice]  They  thought  a 
whole  lot  more  of  their  honour  than  you  do  over  there! — You 
and  the  likes  of  you! — Now  I'm  going!  Now  I've  said  what 
I  wanted  to.  [He  goes  out  slowly,  led  by  Halden. 

Holger.  Well,  what  is  it  you  want? 

Braa.  To-day's  the  day  we  was  to  meet  you,  ain't  it? 

Holger.  Oh,  that's  it?     I  had  forgotten. 

Braa.  We  were  looking  for  you  down  in  the  city  first,  but 
then  they  told  us  you  were  out  here.  [Pause. 

Holger.  Well,  you  know  that  I  represent  all  the  factory 
owners  now — eh? 

Aspelund.  And  we  all  the  workmen.  As  far  as  that  goes, 
it's  all  right.  [Pause. 

Holger.  Have  you  any  proposition  to  make? 

Braa.  Yes. 

Aspelund.  Sure  we  have! 

Holger.  What  is  it? 

Braa.  That  we  pick  a  board  of  arbitration  together. 
Holger  makes  no  reply. 


Acxn  BEYOND  HUMAN   MIGHT  145 

Braa.  And  we  thought  of  putting  in  a  bill  about  it,  too. 
So  it  could  be  made  a  law,  don't  you  see? 
HoLGER  remains  silent. 

Braa.  We  workmen  feel  as  if  there  might  be  a  future  in 
that. 

HoLGER.  But  we  don't. 

AsPELUND.  Naw— you  don't  want  anybody  to  get  in  be- 
tween  

HoLGER.  [Without  paying  any  attention  to  him]  Have  you 
any  other  propositions.^ 

Braa.  We  have  authority,  if  youve  got  any  others. 

HoLGER.  Propositions?     No! 

Braa.  Is  it  just  as  it  was  before? 

HoLGER.  No,  it  isn't. 

AsPELUND.  [Quietly  and  timidly]  Is  there  anything  more 
than  there  was  before? 

HoLGER.  ]^  propositions.  We  make  no  propositions. 
Eh? 

Braa.  [Tensely]  What  is  it,  then? 

HoLGER.  Conditions,  that's  what  it  is! 

Braa.  [After  an  exchange  of  glances  between  the  workmen, 
says  in  a  subdued  and  Jiesitant  majiner]  Might  we  hear  what 
kind  of  condition  it  is? 

IIoLGER.  I  fear  you  are  not  done  with  striking  yet.  And  if 
so,  it's  of  no  use. 

The  workmen  are  seen  talking  among  themselves. 

Braa.  We've  agreed  we'd  like  to  hear  it  just  the  same. 

HoLGER.  The  condition,  you  mean?     There  are  several. 

AsPELUND.  [In  a  wholly  different  tone]  So,  there's  a  lot  of 
'em!  Well,  is  there  any  reason  why  we  shouldn't  hear  about 
them?     Now's  as  good  a  time  as  any. 

HoLGER.  There  is  this  reason  against  it:  that  only  the  fac- 
tory owners  of  this  city  have  agreed  to  them  so  far.    But  we 


146  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  actu 

want  everybody  to  agree  with  us.  Every  factory  owner  in  the 
country.  We  are  going  to  meet  to-night.  We  are  going  to 
have  a  trade  union,  we  too! 

Br.\.\.  So  we've  heard.  But  as  the  conditions  have  to  do 
with  us  first  of  all,  I  think  we  might  be  told  about  them. 

AsPELUXD.  Well,  that's  what  /  think,  too. 

Hexrik  Sem  and  Haxs  Olsen.  Yes. 

HoLGER.  As  you  like.  The  first  condition  is  that  no  work- 
man can  be  a  member  of  Bratt's  union,  or  of  any  other  union 
that  hasn't  our  approval. 

The  workmen  exchange  glances,  but  icithont  a  icord  or 
change  of  mien. 

HoLGER.  The  next  one  is  that  you  cannot  subscribe  to 
Sang's  paper,  or  to  any  other  paper  not  approved  by  us. 

Hans  Olsen.  And  I  suppose  we've  got  to  go  to  church, 
too.^ 

Braa.  [Silencing  him  with  a  gesture]  And  what  do  we  get  if 
we  agree  .^ 

Holger.  What  you  had  before.  Eh? — However,  I  have 
to  inform  you  that  those  are  not  the  only  conditions. 

AsPEHJND.  I  think  if  I  was  you,  I'd  try  the  other  way 
around.     Making  the  people  a  little  happier  instead. 

HoLGER.  It  isn't  in  our  power  to  make  you  happy. 

AsPELUND.  Oh,  yes!  Oh,  yes!  Let's  have  a  share  of  the 
profits,  and  let's  get  land  up  here  to  live  on 

Holger.  People  who  want  what  belongs  to  others  can 
never  be  happy.     Eh? 

Hans  Olsen.  But  those  who've  got  hold  of  what  l)elong3 
to  others  can  be  happy  enough. 

Holger.  [Striking  the  table  with  his  hand]  Have  I  got  hold 
of  what  belongs  to  others?  What  would  you  bo  l)ut  for  nie? 
Eh?     Who  has  built  up  all  this — you  or  me? 

Hans  Olsen.  I  guess  there  was  a  few  who  helped  [o  build 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUMAN  MIGHT  147 

up — from   the   first — and   now   there's   thousands   that   are 
helping. 

HoLGER.  Helping?  Yes,  my  ink-well  has  also  been  help- 
ing? And  the  power,  and  the  machines,  and  the  telegraph, 
and  the  ships,  and  the  workmen.  I  put  the  workmen  last, 
because  every  so  often  they  try  to  smash  all  the  rest  to 
pieces.  And  neither  the  ink-well  nor  the  power  nor  the 
machines  nor  the  telegraph  can  be  called  that  stupid. 

AsPELUND.  You're  playing  a  high  game — I  must  say! 

HoLGER.  The  game  should  have  been  still  higher  long  ago. 
Eh?  Then,  perhaps,  talent  and  capital  might  even  have 
found  time  to  make  decent  living  conditions  for  the  workmen. 

Hans  Olsen.  Yes,  in  Hell ! 

Braa.  No,  no — that  kind  o'  talk  doesn't  lead  to  anything. 

AsPELUND.  Yes,  it  does!  It  leads  to  what's  bad. — For 
Heaven's  sake,  come  and  see  how  we're  living  down  there! 

HoLGER.  Well,  why  do  you  strike,  then?  You're  wasting  a 
lot  more  than  we  could  have  given  to  help  you. 

Braa.  Why  wouldn't  you  do  anything  before  we  struck? 

AsPELXJND.  Why  can't  you  do  anything  now?  And  be 
done  with  it? 

HoLGER.  I  would  call  that  putting  money  into  j'our  strike 
fund.  Eh?  No,  this  time  you'll  have  to  bear  all  the  conse- 
quences of  your  behaviour.     For  now  I  am  in  command. 

{Long  silence. 

Braa.  [To  the  rest]  I  guess  we  may  just  as  well  get  out  of 
here  at  once.     We  can't  do  anything  here. 

AsPELUND.  No,  Blind  Anders  will  be  doing  about  as  much 
sitting  outside. 

HoLGER.  It's  my  opinion,  too,  that  we  haven't  got  any- 
thing new  to  tell  each  other. — You'd  better  come  back  when 
you  are  done  with  all  that  strike  nonsense.     Eh? 


148  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  actii 

Braa.  So  we're  to  be  done  up  this  time,  are  we?  P'r'aps 
it  mightn't  work  after  all! 

AsPELUXD.  We've  got  something  like  honour,  too — just  as 
Anders  said  before. 

Hans  Olsen.  The  way  you  talk!  We — honour?  Naw, 
they've  got  all  the  honour!  Them  as  take  it  from  the  women 
folks — and  then  send  'em  ofif  to  America! 

HoLGER.  Although  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  strike, 
or  with  me  either — let  me  tell  you  that,  once  for  all — yet  I'll 
answer  it.  It's  the  second  time  you've  come  forward  with 
it.  And  it's  all  the  time  in  your  paper. — Every  class  has  its 
own  sense  of  honour.  But  it's  by  our  women  we  can  best 
measure  how  much  of  tliat  kind  of  sense  we  have.  Such  as 
our  honour  is,  such  are  they. 

AsPELUND.  Yes,  there's  a  lot  in  that. 

HoLGER.  But  when  your  women  are  such  that  they  can  be 
caught  by  hand  like  fledgeling  birds — what  sort  of  honour 
have  you  got  then? 

Peter  Stua.  [Who  until  then  has  not  said  a  word]  I'll  be 
damned  if  I  stand  for  any  more  of  that! 

He  swings  himself  across  the  table.  Holger,  tvho  has 
risen  to  meet  him,  bends  him  backward  against  the 
table,  as  Braa  and  Aspelund  run  up  to  tJiem  from 
opposite  sides. 

Braa.  Cut  out  that  kind  of  thing! 

Hoixjer  and  Peter  Stua  let  go  their  hold  of  each  other. 

Aspelund.  You'd  better  wait.  There'll  be  time  for  that 
too. 

Holger.  Now  you'll  have  to  get  out! 

Halden.  [Rushes  into  the  room]  What's  up  here? 

Aspelund.  Oh,  they've  got  to  fighting  about  honour. 

Hans  Olsen.  [In  a  rayc]  All  you  bit;  fellows  have  a  lot  of 


ACT  II  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  149 

sons  in  America  that  you  don't  want  to  hear  of.     And  none 
of  them  comes  back  here  to  teach  you  what  honour  is. 

HoLGER.  [Having  arranged  his  clothing]  Open  the  door. 
Halden!— Eh.? 

Braa.  [Close  to  Holger]  There  is  something  I  must  talk 
of.     It  can't  wait. 

Holger.  But  the  rest  will  have  to  get  out  at  once. 

Hans  Olsen.  Well,  we  ain't  hankering  to  stay  either. 

[He  goes  out. 

Peter  Stua.  We'll  come  back  again.  But  I  guess  it'll  be 
in  a  different  way. 

Braa.  Aw — get  out  now! 
Peter  Stua  goes  out. 

AsPELUND.  [Quietly,  as  he  is  leaving]  Yes,  indeed,  you're 
playing  a  mighty  high  game.  [He  goes  out. 

Holger.  [Sharply  to  Braa]  What  is  it? 

Braa.  You  can  see  for  yourself  that  there  are  some  here 
that  can't  be  controlled  much  longer.  And  it  might  be  a 
good  thing  to  keep  that  in  mind. 

Holger.  Well,  why  don't  you  keep  it  in  mind.'*     Eh.'' 

Braa.  Tilings  might  happen  here  which  everybody  would 
ask  the  Lord  to  spare  us. 

Holger.  No,  I  wouldn't!  For  that  would  be  the  very  best 
thing  that  could  happen. 

Braa.  That  many  thousands 

Holger.  The  more,  the  better! 

Braa.  Well,  I'll  be  hanged! 

Holger.  Eh?  Now  you  are  standing  on  our  feet.  And 
then  we  could  put  you  at  a  proper  distance  again  for  at  least 
another  generation.  And  in  the  meantime  something  might 
happen. 

Braa.  Well,  then  there  is  nothing  left  for  me  to  say  here. 

[He  goes  out. 


150  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  Acrn 

HoLGER.  [To  Halden]  I  Can't  help  thinking,  whenever  I 
see  that  fellow,  there  must  be  gentle  blood  in  him. — And 
that's  true  of  Peter  Stua,  too. — All  who  dare — all  who  dare  to 
revolt — have  upper-class  blood  in  them.  Careless  crossing 
that,  Halden! 

Halden.  Careless.' 

HoLGER.  I  like  those  fellows.  Especially  the  one  who 
came  at  me.  Splendid  chap.  I  should  like  to  know  who  was 
his  father.  Upper-class  blood.  It  almost  seems  as  if  I  could 
spot  his  nose.  Eh?  The  rest  are  nothing  but  slaves.  Born 
slaves.  Pure  and  simple. — Was  there  anything  you  wanted, 
Halden? 

Haldex.  Miss  Sang  has  been  waiting  (juite  a  while  out- 
side. 

HoLGER.  And  why  didn't  you  tell  me  at  once?  Eh?  [He 
hastens  to  the  door  and  opens  it;  not  seeing  anybody,  he  steps  into 
the  next  room;  a  moment  later  he  is  heard  to  say  outside]  You 
mustn't  think  it's  my  fault.     Eh?     If  I  had  only  known 

Rachel.  [Beginning  to  speak  lehile  still  outside]  Mr.  Halden 
wanted  to  announce  me.  But  I  didn't  think  I  ought  to  pre- 
vent the  workmen  from  finishing  their  talk  with  you. 

Both  she  and  Holger  are  in  the  room  by  tJie  time  she 
stops  speaking. 

Holger.  Well,  they  treated  me  to  some  of  that  bitter  beer 
your  paper  has  been  brewing.  [At  his  xcords  Rachel  is  seen  to 
flinch;  he  doesn't  notice  it,  but  leads  her  to  a  sofa,  where  he  sits 
down  beside  her]  I  have  had  to  hear  that  those  fellows  have 
made  my  wealth,  and  that  accordingly  I  am  playing  the  part 
of  an  arch-thief.  Eh?  Quite  an  amusing  tale!  Here  I  have 
built  up  a  market  for  the  labour  of  many  thousand  men.  Add 
to  those  all  who  are  depending  on  tliem,  and  they  make  a 
whole  city.  And  so  one  fine  day,  l)efore  I  am  through  with  it. 
they  turn  on  me  and  tell  me  it  is  theirs!     Eh?     Ami  when  I 


ACT  II  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  151 

won't  make  concessions  at  once,  they  rebel.  I  forgive  them, 
and  everything  seems  to  be  all  right  again — when  a  crazy 
preacher  drops  down  among  them  and  begins  to  proclaim  the 
law  of  God.  But  the  law  of  God  is  that  everything  should  be 
turned  topsy-turvy.  Now  we  can't  even  build  and  live  as  we 
please,  for  then  we  are  taking  the  sun  away  from  them.  To 
make  up  for  this,  the  city  is  asked  to  build  houses  for  those 
people  in  Sunnywold — in  Sunnywold,  the  pride  and  joy  of  the 
whole  city!  Why  not  lodge  them  in  our  own  houses?  And 
as  it's  the  "law  of  God" — why  not  in  heaven  as  well?  Eh? 
[Rising]  I  tell  you.  Miss  Sang,  if  we  handed  out  everything 
we  have,  bag  and  baggage — in  a  year  it  would  be  all  over 
with  the  factories,  the  capital,  the  trade,  and  all  of  us  would 
be  in  the  poorhouse!  Eh? — I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss  Sang! 
Here  I  am  treating  you  to  the  same  sort  of  bitter  brew,  only 
drawn  from  a  different  barrel.  [He  seats  himself  again]  There 
is  no  one  I  respect  more  than  you,  my  dear  Miss  Sang.  But 
I  happen  to  be  made  in  such  a  way  that  my  temper  is  a 
part  of  my  motive  power.  And  as  there  had  been  such  a  lot 
of  it  stored  up  during  that  meeting ■ 

Rachel.  [Smiling]  Oh,  I  have  to  hear  all  sorts  of  things 
these  days. 

HoLGER.  I  thought  you  had  already  moved  in.  Miss  Sang. 
And  I  came  here  only  to  hand  over  the  deed  to  you.  It  was 
registered  yesterday.  [He  takes  a  document  from  the  table] 
Now  the  park  and  the  house  are  yours  under  the  law.  And  I 
regard  it  as  a  pleasure  and  an  honour  to  have  the  chance  of 
placing  this  deed  in  your  hands. 
Both  rise. 

Rachel.  A  magnificent  gift,  indeed!  Now  my  hospital 
ought  to  be  secure  or  I'll  prove  myself  sadly  incapable.  I 
thank  you  with  all  my  heart,  Mr.  Holger. 

[She  takes  his  hand. 


152  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  u 

HoLGER.  The  document  is  a  work  of  art,  as  you'll  see. 
That's  Halden's  doing,  of  course. 

Rachel.  [Opening  the  deed]  Yes,  so  it  is,  I'll  have  it 
nicely  framed,  and  then  I'll  hang  it  right  opposite  the  en- 
trance. A  thousand,  thousand  thanks!  [They  boiv  to  each 
other]  Is  the  deed  entirely  in  my  name? 

HoLGER.  Of  course! 

Rachel.  But  it's  a  gift  to  the  hospital.' 

HoLGER.  It's  a  gift  to  you.     And  you  will  dispose  of  it. 

Rachel.  Well,  I  hope  only  that  I  may  prove  equal  to  it 

HoLGER.  You  have  already  proved  that. — 'When  are  you 
going  to  move  in.' 

Rachel.  I  thought  of  doing  so  at  once — if  you  have  no 
objection.' 

Holger.  There  are  some  books  here  I  want  to  take  away. 
Nothing  else. 

Rachel.  You  can't  imagine  how  happy  my  sick  people 
are  made  by  this.  To-day  we  have  knocked  a  hole  in  the 
wall  between  the  hospital  and  the  park.  And  everybody  who 
could  crawl  out  of  bed  had  to  come  and  watch  the  work. 

Holger.  I  suppose  you  have  a  lot  to  attend  to,  and  so 
we'll  leave  you — Halden  and  I. 

Rachel.  Oh,  there  is  something  I  wanted  so  badly  to  ask 
of  you,  Mr.  Holger.  Although,  of  course,  you  never  listen 
when  I  ask  you  for  something. 

Holger.  There  is  nobody,  absolutely  nobody,  to  whom  I 
would  rather  listen.  [He  motions  her  to  be  seated]  What  is  it? 

[He  seats  himself  again. 

Rachel.  The  big  meeting  of  all  the  delegates  that  is  to  be 
held  to-night — don't  hold  it  in  the  Castle!  Don't  make  any 
display!     Don't  illuminate  the  Castle! 

Holger.  The  Castle  is  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  archi- 


ACT  II  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  153 

lecture  in  this  country.     And  the  site  of  the  old  fort,  where 
it  is  located,  makes  a  very  fine  setting  for  it.     Eh.^ 

Rachel.  That's  true.  Mr.  Halden  has  every  right  to  be 
proud  of  his  work.  There  is  no  one  who  disputes  that. 
But^ 

HoLGER.  But — yes?  The  workmen  have  declared  the 
building  and  its  location  a  direct  affront  to  themselves. 

Rachel.  Many  cruel  deeds  were  committed  in  the  old  fort. 

HoLGER.  And  now  they  are  covered  up  with  beauty.  Is 
there  anything  criminal  in  that.'*     Eh.'' 

Rachel.  The  time  during  which  the  Castle  was  built 

HoLGEK.  The  time. 5^  When  times  are  hard  is  the  best  time 
to  make  work  for  people.  Is  there  anything  criminal  in  that 
either.'* 

Rachel.  It  has  been  misunderstood.  Remember  what 
happened  during  your  housewarming. 

HoLGER.  A  little  dynamite — what  of  it?  Sheer  futility. 
Those  deep  old  moats  prevent  them  from  getting  near  the 
place. 

Rachel.  But  don't  give  another  excuse  for  it. 

HoLGER.  Not  only  will  the  banquet  and  the  illumination 
be  repeated,  but  I  am  going  to  put  three  bands  at  the  big 

Rachel.  Oh,  no,  no! 

HoLGER.  [Rising]  Eh?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  we  are 
to  give  way  because  of  their  evil  plotting?  Not  while  I  am 
in  command.  It  is  just  in  times  like  these  that  the  Castle 
has  a  message  for  certain  people.     Did  you  see  it  illuminated? 

Rachel.  No,  I  didn't  go  out  at  all. 

HoLGER.  That's  where  you  missed  it.  [He  goes  toward  the 
background]  Fortunately  I  had  an  artist  on  hand  to  paint  it. 
A  very  clever  fellow.     Here  you'll  see. 

He  pulls  aside  the  drapery  in  the  rear,  thus  revealing  a 
beautiful  painting  that  covers  the  entire  wall.     It  shows 


154  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  n 

a  medicBval  castle  with  towers  and  turrets,  crenelated 
walls,  and  a  broad  moat  in  front.  The  upper  edges 
of  the  building  are  outlined  tcith  electric  ligftts  and  the 
whole  structure  /a-  strongly  illuminated.  Furtlier  down 
on  the  picture  may  be  seen  a  city  with  its  harbour,  which 
is  protected  toward  tfie  open  sea  by  a  long  breakwater. 
There  are  electric  lights  along  the  breakwater,  too. 
The  atmospheric  effect  is  that  of  a  clear  fall  evening 
with  loaning  light. 
Rachel.  [Who  has  risen]  Yes,  that's  wonderful!  Indeed, 
it's  wonderful ! 

HoLGER.  That's  how  I  believe  things  are  going  to  look 
when  this  earth  once  more  finds  a  place  for  big  personalities, 
who  dare  and  can  proclaim  their  own  selves.  When  we  get 
away  from  ant-heap  ideas  and  centipedal  dreams — back  to 
big  men  with  genius  and  will. 
Rachel.  It's  fascinating! 

HoLGER.  To  me  the  most  important  feature  of  the  whole 
struggle  is  to  make  room  for  personality.  Here  you  may  wit- 
ness the  restoration  of  a  structure  belonging  to  a  time  when 
personality  did  have  elbow-room.  With  towers  that  rise  and 
rule.  With  massive  walls  whose  strength  and  shape  incul- 
cate a  religion  of  pomp,  of  power.  Eh.'* — Do  you  want  it  to 
stay  here,  or  shall  I  take  it  away? 
Rachel.  I  want  it  taken  away. 

HoLGER.  [Hurt]  You  want ? 

Rachel.  Yes. 

HoLGER.  [To  Halden]  You  hear  that.'     Will  you  please 
see  that  it  is  taken  away  at  once. 
Halden  nods  assent. 
Holger.  I  mean  it  literally.     At  once.     Eh? 

Halden  remains  quiet  as  before  and  goes  out. 


ACTH  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  155 

HoLGER.  There  is  something  about  that  fellow 

[He  checks  himself. 

Rachel.  You  don't  like  Halden? 

HoLGER.  Have  you  noticed  that? 

Rachel.  I  noticed  it  the  first  time  I  saw  the  two  of  you 
together, 

HoLGER.  Oh — then!  That  was  not  to  be  wondered  at. 
Your  hospital  was  being  built  right  outside  my  park.  I  heard 
that  a  young  lady  was  using  her  private  fortune  in  that  way, 
and  I  became  curious.  Eh.'*  And  so,  one  day,  I  walked  right 
into  the  place.  And  whom  should  I  find  there  with  you? 
Halden.  He  was  your  architect.  And  he  hadn't  said  a  word 
to  me  about  it. 

Rachel.  He  doesn't  say  very  many. 

HoLGER.  What  is  it  that  has  corked  him  up? 

Rachel.  I  don't  know.     He  has  had  to  make  his  own  way. 

HoLGER.  That's  what  all  of  us  have  had  to  do. 

Rachel.  But  I  imagine  it  comes  a  little  harder  in  America. 

HoLGER.  How  did  he  come  to  be  your  architect? 

Rachel.  Because  he  wanted  to.  And  was  willing  to  do  the 
work  for  nothing. 

HoLGER.  Has  he  done  it  for  nothing? 

Rachel.  Everything. 

HoLGER.  [Takes  a  turn  across  the  floor]  Did  he  come  to  you 
himself? 

Rachel.  No,  somebody  else  brought  me  a  message  from 
him. 

HoLGER.  [Stopping  in  his  walk]  Can  you  tell  me  who  that 
was?     Can  you — or  don't  you  want  to? 

R.\CHEL.  Yes.     It  was  my  brother. 

HoLGER.  Does  Halden  know  your  brother? 

Rachel.  Yes — or  rather,  I  don't  know.  My  brother 
brought  me  that  message  from  him:  that's  all  I  do  know. 


156  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  actii 

HoLGER.  I  have  often  wondered  what  kind  of  acquaint- 
ances that  man  might  have.     I  am  not  one  of  them. 

[lie  picks  up  hw  hat. 

Rachel.  Well,  that's  more  than  I  know. 

HoLGER.  [After  a  brief  pause]  I  hope  now  that  you  may 
feel  at  home  out  here — you  and  your  convalescents. 

Rachel.  Thank  you  ever  so  much!  You  must  come  over 
when  we  are  in  here — so  that  all  of  them  may  have  a  chance  of 
thanking  you! 

Holger.  I  will 

Rachel.  [Coming  closer  to  him]  Have  I  made  trouble  for 
Halden  by  saying  that  he  knew  my  brother.*  For,  really,  I 
don't  know  that  he  does. 

Holger.  You  are  greatly  concerned  about  Halden. 

Rachel.  I  don't  want  to  harm  anybody. 

Holger.  You  need  have  no  fear. 

Rachel.  And  that  other  matter  I  spoke  of — ?  For  the 
sake  of  all  the  people,  Mr.  Holger,  who  may  be  tempted  into 
wrong-doing ? 

Holger.  I  have  already  told  you:  there  is  no  one  to  whom 
I  listen  with  greater  pleasure  than  you.  But  you  know  also 
that  we  have  different  religions,  you  and  I.     Eh.' 

Rachel.  People  are  scared.  They  say  that  old  mining 
galleries  are  still  in  existence  under  the  Castle. 

Holger.  That's  true  of  the  greater  part  of  the  city. 

Rachel.  Suppose  they  should  try ? 

Holger.  [Placing  himself  right  in  front  of  her]  That  would 

BE  the  best  thing  THAT  COULD  HAPPEN'! 

Rachel.  [Drawing  away  from  him]  You  are  awful! 
Holger.  The  religion  of  the  masters,  Miss  Sang. 
Rachel.  And  this  is  what  you  want  to  teach  your  nephew 
and  niece? 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  157 

HoLGER.  Yes,  it  is.  I  want  to  teach  them  the  only  thing 
that  can  save  all  of  us. 

Rachel.  [Urge7itli/]  The  damage  you  do  will  be  tremen- 
dous then — !     And  you  have  no  right  to  do  it,  either! 

HoLGER.  No  right,  eh.^  I,  who  bestow  all  I  have  on  those 
two  young  people? 

R\CHEL.  If  you  were  to  bestow  ten  times  as  much  on  them, 
Mr.  Holger,  it  wouldn't  give  you  the  right  to  rob  them  of 
their  souls. 

Holger.  Well,  if  I  ever — eh? 

Rachel.  Can  it  be  called  less  than  that?  Everything 
those  wonderful  young  creatures  know  and  cherish — all  that 
you  want  to  take  away  from  f  hem. 

Holger.  In  order  to  give  them  what  is  still  better. 

Rachel.  But  which  they  despise,  Mr.  Holger.  No  one 
has  the  right  to  shape  the  future  by  force — not  by  force ! 

Holger.  That'll  have  to  be  fought  out. 

Rachel.  Whether  the  children  should  be  taken  away  from 
their  parents? 

Holger.  The  parents  are  dead  in  this  case. 

Rachel.  No  living  parents  have  a  greater  right  to  their 
children  than  have  these  who  are  dead.  And  you  know  it, 
Mr.  Holger. 

Holger.  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  respect  the  silly  no- 
tions of  the  parents  for  that  reason — even  their  silly  notions? 
Credo  and  Spera!  Parents  who  are  capable  of  naming  their 
children  Credo  and  Spera — eh? 

Rachel.  "I  believe" — "thou  shalt  hope" — are  those  such 
silly  notions?  Thus  had  the  parents  disposed  of  these  chil- 
dren before  they  were  born.  And  that's  something  we  ought 
to  respect,  Mr.  Holger. 

Holger.  Respect  silly  notions!  What  kind  of  hope  and 
faith  is  it  a  question  of?    [In  an  amused  tone]  It   is   not   in 


158  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  n 

this  world,  Miss  Sang,  that  those  who  are  first  shall  be  last, 
and  the  last  first. 

Rachel.  That's  something  you  know  nothing  about,  Mr. 
Holger.  The  future  will  be  settled  by  the  masses — by  the 
vast  masses. 

Holger.  Hm — !     That'll  have  to  be  fought  out. 

Rachel.  There  is  a  current  at  work  here  that  we  cannot 
stop. 

Holger.  [Merrily]  Well,  I'll  get  these  two  out  of  the  cur- 
rent anyhow. 

Rachel.  And  you  dare  to  do  that,  Mr.  Holger.' 

Holger.  Dare — ■?     Please  don't  interfere  with  me  in  this. 

Rachel.  You  have  refused  to  let  me  keep  them.  I  can 
do  nothing  about  that.  But  you  cannot  refuse  me  the 
right  to  influence  them. 

Holger.  Oh,  I  cannot?  Eh?  The  children  are  not  going 
to  obey  me,  you  mean?  Then  they  must  go  away  from 
here! 

Rachel.  [Horrified]  Away  from  here?  Send  the  children 
away?  [With  deep  emotion]  Mr.  Holger,  all  you  will  gain  by  it 
will  be  to  make  the  three  of  us  frightfully  unhappy.  And 
besides — after  the  loss  they  have  just  suffered — this,  too! 
Oh,  you  cannot  do  such  a  thing! 

Holger.  Can't  I?  Eh?  I'm  going  to  do  it  at  once.  No 
matter  how  much  it  hurts  me  to  say  "no"  to  you — but  you 
force  me  to  do  it. 

Rachel.  Every  time  I  ask  you  very  liard  for  sonu'thing,  I 
get  a  "no."     And  every  time  you  say  diat  it  hurts  you. 

Holger.  I  shouldn't  respect  you  as  highly  as  I  do  if  you 
were  different  from  what  you  are.  I  hope  you  will  grant  me 
the  same  compliment — Miss  Sang! 

Holger  goes  out.     Rachel  dropn  down  on  a  chair  and 
begins  to  cry.     Somebody  is  heard  hnochintj  at  the  big 


ACT  II  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  159 

window.     Rachel  goes  over  to  the  window,  her  face 
brightening  as  she  moves. 

Rachel.  Do  you  want  me  to  open — ?  [The  moment  she  gets 
the  window  open,  she  cries  out]  No,  no,  no!   [She  shrinks  back. 

Credo.  [Eighteen  years  old;  comes  with  a  leap  through  the 
window]  Good  morning,  Rachel! 

Spera.  [In  her  sixteenth  year;  enters  in  the  same  manner] 
Good  morning,  good  morning! 

All  three  embrace  enthusiastically. 

Credo.  What  did  he  say  to  make  you  sorry? 

Rachel.  Oh,  you  noticed ? 

Both.  Of  course,  we  noticed. 

Rachel.  It  was  about  you,  of  course — something  about 
you! 

Credo.  He  won't  let  us  see  you? 

Spera.  It  won't  do  him  any  good. 

Rachel.  Worse  than  that.     He  wants  to  send  you  away. 
Away  from  me! 

Both.  He  wants  to  send  us  away,  you  say? 

Rachel.  [Deeply  stirred]  So  that  you  cannot  see  me  at  all. 
Both  children  embrace  her. 

Credo.  He'll  never  be  able  to  do  it! 

Spera.  We'll  never  obey  him  in  thai! 

Credo.  Oh,  why  haven't  we  learned  to  fly  yet? 

Spera.  If  he  stops  our  mail,  we'll  use  pigeons.     And  we'll 
keep  a  diary  for  you  to  read. 

Rachel.  Yes,  yes! 

Credo.  And  you  who  can  afford  it,  you'll  come  to  us  often, 
won't  you? 

Rachel.  W^ill  I  come — ?     Yes,  wherever  you  are! 
They  embrace  again. 

Credo.  I'll  invent  something  that  makes  the  voice  clearer 
than  the  phonograph  does  now.     That  doesn't  give  you  the 


160  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  ii 

voice  itself,  but  just  a  kind  of  shadow  of  it.  I  have  been 
making  a  study  of  it,  and  I  think  I  know  where  the  trouble 
lies. — And  then  you'll  sit  in  your  own  room,  Rachel,  and  hear 
us  talk  to  you.  You'll  feel  that  we  are  always  about  you, 
Rachel,  Rachel! 

Rachel.  I'll  send  you  telegrams  and  letters  every  day,  you 
may  be  sure. 

Credo.  Until  he  understands  how  useless  it  is  to  separate 
us. 

Spera.  And  perhaps  lets  us  come  together  again— what 
d'you  think? 

Rachel.  Something  new  and  wonderful  has  come  into  my 
life  with  you  two. — I  can  no  longer  exist  without  you. 

Both.  Nor  we  without  you. 

Credo.  You  are  the  only  one  we  can  go  to  with  everything. 

Spera.  Do  you  know  why  we  came  just  now? 

Rachel.  No. 

Spera.  That  toy  of  Credo's 

Rachel.  Does  it  fly? 

Spera.  Yes,  all  around  the  room,  way  up  under  the  ceiling. 

Credo.  I  have  got  it! 

Spera.  I  assure  you:  round  and  round  and  round,  without 
bumping  into  anything.  ^^ 

Credo.  I  have  discovered  how  to  steer  it,  you  know — I 
have  got  it! 

Rachel.  But  isn't  this  something  entirely  new? 

Credo.  It's  something  that  will  grow,  I  tell  you.     Just 
wait! 

Rachel.  So  now  you  can  make  the  circle  in  which  it  moves 
as  wide  or  as  narrow  as  you  want? 
Credo.  Exactly! 

Spera.  All  he  has  to  do  is  to  set  it  as  he  wants  it. 
Rachel.  Can't  I  come  and  see  it? 


ACT  II  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  161 

Spera.  That's  why  we  came,  you  know:  just  because  we 
wanted  you  to  see  it. 

Credo.  We  came  to  bring  you  along  with  us. 

Rachel.   But    I    don't    know    if    that    would    be    right 

now 

A  bell  is  heard  ringing  at  the  main  entrance  outside. 

Rachel.  Nobody  must  find  you  here. 

Spera.  [Leaping  out  through  the  tvhidoio]  Good-bye  for  a 
while! 

Credo.  [Taking  a  long  start  and  clearing  the  window  with  a 
flying  leap]  Hurrah  for  the  finest  woman  on  earth! 
A  knock  is  heard  at  the  door. 

Rachel.  Come  in! 
Elias  enters. 

Rachel.  [Running  to  meet  him]  Elias — at  last! 

Elias.  [Meeting  her  half-imy]  Rachel — ^oh,  Rachel ! 

They  stand  for  a  few  moments  with  their  arms  about  each 
other. 

Rachel.  [Stroking  his  hair]  How  pale  you  look,  Elias! 
And  worn  out!     What  is  it.^ 

Elias.  [Smiling]  The  time's  so  big,  and  our  strength  so 
small. 

Rachel.  How  long  it  is  since  we  saw  each  other! 

Elias.  For  the  same  reason.     I  didn't  have  the  strength. 

Rachel.  I  can  see  that  you  have  overworked. 

Elias.  Yes,  I  can't  even  have  the  nights  to  myself. 

Rachel.  Not  even  the  nights? 

Elias.  And  we  don't  get  enough  to  eat. 

Rachel.  But,  dear — what's  the  use  of  that? 

Elias.  We  must  practise  self-sacrifice,  says  Bratt.  And 
he  is  right.  But  the  effect  of  it  has  been  somewhat  unex- 
pected. 

Rachel.  Why  don't  you  sleep  nights? 


162  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  actii 

Elias.  So  this  is  where  you  are  to  live,  Rachel? — This  is 
what  he  has  given  you — while  he's  refusing  us  everything. 

Rachel.  He  has  given  it  to  the  hospital.  It  is  to  be  used 
for  the  convalescents. 

Elias.  [Going  around,  looking  the  place  over]  This  he  has 
done  now — as  if  there  were  nothing  else  that  made  any  de- 
mands on  him!  Are  you  to  live  here,  Rachel — in  this  room 
here.' 

Rachel.  Yes,  and  sleep  in  the  room  next  to  it — the  one 
you  passed  coming  in. 

Elias.  You  have  chosen  peace  for  your  share,  Rachel. 

Rachel.  Not  exactly  peace,  Elias.  There  is  a  great  deal 
of  responsibility,  and  a  great  deal  to  do. 

Elias.  I  know  it,  Rachel,  I  know  it.  All  I  meant  was — I 
cannot  understand  how  anybody  can  live  as  he  was  living  in 
this  big  house— how  anybody  dares,  while  so  many  others — 
Have  you  heard  about  Maren  Haug  and  her  two  children ? 

Rachel.  Yes,  yes,  I  keep  track  of  everything. — Oh,  Elias, 
if  you  knew  how  my  thoughts  have  been  with  you  these  last 
days! 

Elias.  Perhaps  that's  why  I  have  felt  more  homesick  than 
ever  before — more  even  than  at  the  time  father  and  mother 
still  lived,  and  we  were  in  the  city. 

Rachel.  That's  because  you  are  not  happy. — Tell  me, 
Elias:  have  you  any  faith  in  the  strike.' 

EuAS.  [After  a  glance  at  his  sister]  Have  you? 
Rachel  shakes  her  Jiead. 

Elias.  [Shakes  his  head  in  the  same  iray]  It  will  end  in  the 
worst  defeat  ever  heard  of.  Maren  Haug  read  the  future. 
Oh — she  is  not  the  only  one  who  won't  survive  it. 

Rachel.  How  it  has  made  you  suffer,  Elias!     I  can  see  it. 

Elias.  The  people  in  the  city.  Rachel,  have  another  kind 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  163 

of  conscience  than  ours.     Something  else  is  needed  to  wake 
them  up. 

Rachel.  Can  Bratt  see  it  coming,  too.'* 
Elias  shakes  his  head. 

Rachel.  Since  when  have  you  seen  it? 

Elias.  Since  I  began  to  stay  away  from  both  of  you — from 
him  as  well  as  from  you. 

Rachel.  [Disturbed]  You  have  not  been  seeing  Bratt 
either.'* 

Elias.  I  haven't  had  a  talk  with  him  until  to-day. 

Rachel.  Was  it  about ? 

Elias.  No. — But  don't  let  us  talk  of  this  now!  Let  us  go 
back  for  a  little  while  to  what  used  to  be,  Rachel. 

Rachel.  Oh,  I  understand. 

Elias.  Sit  down.  I  want  to  sit  beside  you.  Let  us  talk 
of  the  old  things  we  used  to  love.  I  am  homesick,  as  I  have 
told  you. 

Rachel.  Suppose  we  go  back  there,  Elias .^  A  trip  to  our 
old  home?  To  visit  our  childhood  once  more.  The  fiord, 
the  steep  and  naked  mountainsides,  the  pale  light  of  the 
nighLs,  the  parsonage  with  the  long  stretch  of  shore  in  front 
of  it.  The  landslide  must  be  covered  with  grass  now.  And 
many  other  things  also.  What  a  trip  that  would  be !  Nature 
would  be  the  same — a  little  melancholy,  but  faithful,  and 
magnificent  in  its  wildness.  And  our  memories —  Reindeer 
as  tall  as  father  and  mother —  Elias,  let's  go  home — now 
you  are  free — and  so  overworked —     Oh,  Elias! 

Elias.  I  am  not  free,  Rachel. 

Rachel.  I  call  it  free  when  you  are  unable  to  do  anything. 

Elias.  Well,  that  isn't  quite  certain. 

Rachel.  Oh,  help  them  with  money,  yes — but  you  can  do 
that  through  Bratt  just  as  well.     Oh,  Elias — let  us  go! 

Elias.  There  is  something  in  that,  Rachel. 


164  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  actii 

Rachel.  It  would  make  you  well. 

Elias.  I'll  answer  you  to-morrow. 

Rachel.  Think  if  we  could  have  another  look  at  all  the 
places  where  we  used  to  play! 

Elias.  It's  to  those  places  my  thoughts  always  go  when  I 
am  homesick. 

Rachel.  Do  you  remember  how  people  used  to  say  that 
they  never  saw  one  of  us  alone,  but  alwaj^s  the  two  of  us 
together,  and  always  hand  in  hand? 

Elias.  And  that  we  were  always  talking  our  heads  off — 
so  that  they  could  hear  us  from  far  off. 

Rachel.  And  what  a  lot  of  queer  notions  you  had — all 
the  strange  things  that  would  come  into  your  mind,  Elias! 

Elias.  But  it  was  you  who  ruled — yes,  it  was!  It's  a  fact, 
you  have  always  been  the  one  who  ruled,  until  we  separated 
awhile  ago. 

Rachel.  Do  you  remember  the  eiders — how  tame  they 
grew.' 

Elias.  I  remember  ever.y  single  nest. 

Rachel.  How  we  used  to  look  after  them! 

Elias.  And  protect  them  and  bring  them  food.  And  the 
first  time  the  mother  bird  took  the  little  ones  swimming — 
we  were  looking  on  in  the  boat ! 

Rachel.  And  father  was  with  us— just  as  nmch  of  a  child 
as  either  one  of  us. 

Elias.  It  was  he  who  set  us  going.  It  was  always  some 
word  from  him  that  started  us  on  all  we  undertook  and  all 
we  thought  of.  Heaven  and  earth  were  not  separated  then. 
The  miracles  formed  the  rainbow  that  joined  them.  Our 
eyes  were  looking  straight  into  paradise 

Rachel.  And  we  saw  father  and  mother  among  the  angels. 
Or  rather,  the  angels  had  come  down  to  them — we  really 
believed  it! 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUIVIAN   MIGHT  1G5 

Elias.  Wasn't  the  Lord  himself  talking  to  us?  Whatever 
it  was,  it  came  from  Him.  Good  weather  and  bad,  thunder 
and  lightning,  the  flowers,  and  all  else  that  was  bestowed  on 
us.  It  came  straight  from  Him.  And  when  we  prayed,  it 
was  face  to  face  with  Him.  And  we  seemed  to  see  Him,  too, 
in  the  sea,  in  the  mountains,  in  the  sky.     All  of  it  was  Him. 

Rachel.  And  do  you  remember  when  the  bells  were  ring- 
ing— how  we  used  to  think  that  angels  flew  away  with  the 
sound  of  them,  to  ask  the  people  to  come  to  church? 

Elias.  Oh,  Rachel,  those  who  have  lived  through  such 
things  become  exiles  ever  afterward. 

Rachel.  Exiles  ever  afterward — yes,  you  are  right. 

Elias.  Nothing  is  good  enough  after  that. — No  sooner  had 
we  left  home  than  it  was  all  over.  Coldness  and  emptiness — 
and  then  the  doubts.  But  I  can  tell  you  now%  in  plain  words, 
what  remains  when  all  the  rest  is  gone: — the  craving  for  the 
boundless. 

Rachel.  In  you,  perhaps — but  I  flee  from  it.  Do  you 
remember  when  father  and  mother  died,  and  everything 
went  to  pieces,  then  you  fled  from  it,  too? 

Elias.  Yes,  then  we  huddled  close  to  each  other.  We 
didn't  dare  to  believe — not  even  what  we  saw  with  our  own 
eyes. 

Rachel,  We  were  afraid  of  people. 

Elias.  Yes,  do  you  remember ? 

Rachel.  Most  of  all  afraid  that  the  sight  of  us  might  make 
them  talk  ill  of  father  and  mother. 

Elias.  ^^^lom  they  didn't  understand  at  all.  But  then, 
when  our  inheritance  came,  after  Aunt  Hanna  had  died,  do 
you  remember  how  we  plunged  back  into  the  boundless  at 
once? 

Rachel.  Yes,  you  are  right.  Then  it  seemed  at  once  as 
if  all  bounds  had  been  wiped  out. 


166  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  n 

Elias.  That  was  the  time  we  looked  up  Bratt.  In  his 
company  that  feeling  grew,  and  it  has  been  growing  ever 
since. 

Rachel.  In  you,  yes.  But  not  in  me.  To  me  it  comes 
with  a  sort  of  sacred  horror,  but  not  with  any  happiness. 

Elias.  It  is  of  no  use  fleeing,  Rachel.  It  is  in  us  and 
about  us. 

Rachel.  The  earth  can  find  its  way  through  boundless 
space — why  not  we,  too.' 

Elias.  Do  you  know,  Rachel,  that  at  times  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
wings?     And  no  bounds — nothing  to  check  me. 

Rachel.  Death  checks  everything,  Elias. 

Elias.  [Rising]  No,  not  even  death — especially  not  death! 

Rachel.  [Rising]  What  do  you  mean? 

Elias.  [Finnly]  That  what  we  want  to  live  must  pass 
through  death.  ■ 

Rachel.  Through  death ? 

Elias.  If  you  want  to  resurrect  life,  you  must  die  for  it. 
Christianity  took  its  life  from  the  Cross.  Our  country  lives 
because  of  those  who  have  died  for  it.  There  is  no  renewal 
except  through  death. 

Rachel.  Is  that  to  be  applied  here — ?  You  want  the 
workmen  to  die  for  their  cause? 

Elias.  If  they  could  do  that,  then  their  cause  would  be 
saved.     Then  they  would  win  at  once. 

Rachel.  A  revolution,  in  other  words ? 

Elias.  The  workmen  in  a  revolution!  Good  Lord! — What 
day  is  it  to-day?  Monday.  Well,  that  means  Sunday 
doesn't  come  to-morrow.  There  is  a  whole  week  to  Sunday. 
And  in  that  week  some  mighty  hard  work  will  have  to  be  done. 

Rachel.  [Stepping  close  to  him]  There  is  only  one  way  of 
working,  Elias:  l)y  example — by  good  oxaniple! 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  1G7 

Elias.  [Walking  away  from  her]  If  you  could  only  guess 
how  true  that  is.  [Coming  close  to  her  agaiii]  To  show  them 
how  to  leap  across  all  bounds,  don't  you  see?  To  give 
them  an  example  of  that! 

Rachel.  Across  the  bounds  of  life  itself ? 

Elias.  First  one  across — then  another.  Isn't  that  the 
way  things  always  begin.  Then  ten,  a  hundred,  thousands — 
for  it  will  need  thousands  before  the  millions  will  fall  in  line 
to  take  the  leap,  too.  But  after  that  there  can  be  no  resist- 
ance any  longer.  Then  Sunday  will  be  here.  Then  we  shall 
have  alleluias,  triumph,  "Praise  ye  the  Lord!" — First  comes 
the  Baptist;  then  Jesus  and  the  Twelve;  then  the  Seventy; 
then  the  many  hundreds,  the  many  thousands,  and  lastly 
everybody,  whosoever  it  may  be!  The  life  of  resurrection 
cannot  be  bought  in  any  other  way. 

Rachel.  Men  have  a  lot  of  resistance  in  them.  They 
hold  back  for  all  they  are  worth;  hold  on  to  what  they  have 
already  gained.  If  they  didn't,  life  wouldn't  stay  in  its 
proper  course,  as  does  the  earth. 

Elias.  But  stronger  than  the  rest  are  those  who  want  the 
New.  The  eternal  flame— the  force  that  bursts  all  bounds — 
you  find  it  in  the  pioneers.  It  is  on  them  everything  depends. 
The  greater  their  courage,  the  greater  will  be  their  following! 

Rachel.  Into  death ? 

Elias.  There  is  no  other  way!  And  why.^  Because  people 
will  not  believe  fully  in  any  one  but  him  who  dares  to  take 
that  way.  But  let  him  take  that  final  step — into  the  be- 
yond—and he  will  be  believed. — Look  around  you:  do  you 
find  anybody  in  whom  they  believe  fully  now?  Of  course, 
those  that  are  close  to  Bratt  believe  in  him.  But  how  about 
those  that  are  further  off?  They  are  the  very  ones  that 
need  to  be  converted.  But  they  don't  even  turn  their  heads. 
They  don't  care  to  hear  what  he  has  to  say.     He  may  get  up 


168  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  Acrn 

what  we  call  a  "movement" — not  even  then  do  they  turn 
around.     No,  they  leave  it  to  the  police! 

Rachel.  Yes,  you  are  right.     That's  the  way  it  is. 

Elias.  But  when  you  talk  to  them  from  the  other  side  of 
life,  then  they  turni  From  there  every  word  comes  with  so 
much  greater  force — for  in  there  the  echo  is  so  wonderful. 
The  great  ones  have  to  go  there  to  get  a  hearing.  There 
the  speaker's  platform  has  been  reared  by  life,  and  from  it 
the  laws  are  proclaimed  in  tones  that  make  them  heard 
throughout  the  world— even  by  those  that  are  hardest  of 
hearing. 

Rachel.  But  it's  dreadful  to  believe  in  that. 

Elias.  Dreadful.' 

Rachel.  I  mean  that  dreadful  things  may  come  out  of  it. 

Elias.  Nothing  can  be  more  dreadful  than  what  we  already 
have,  Rachel.     What  I  proclaim  is  the  religion  of  martyrdom. 

Rachel.  That's  it.  Of  course,  there  is  something  big 
about  it. 

Elias.  More  than  that:  once  it  has  taken  hold  of  you,  there 
exists  no  other  religion — none  at  all ! 

Rachel.  It's  since  you  came  to  see  this,  that  you  have  lost 
faith  in  the  strike? 

Elias.  I  have  done  everything  in  my  power  to  push  the 
strike — you  can  be  sure  of  that. 

Rachel.  I  don't  doubt  it,  Elias.  [Putting  her  arms  around 
his  neck]  But  I  am  afraid  on  your  behalf.  That  place  down 
there  is  not  the  right  one  for  you. 

Elias.  There  is  no  other  place  where  I  should  like  to  be. 

Rachel.  [Still  with  her  arms  around  his  7ieclc]  But  come 
home  with  me  now — at  once!  Please — at  once!  Just  to 
breathe  the  air  of  the  sea,  Elias!  You  can  be  sure  that  on 
the  sea  you  won't  think  and  feel  as  you  do  down  there. 
The  journey  homeward  too — all  the  different  moods  it  will 


ACT  11  BEYOND   HUMAN  MIGHT  169 

make  you  pass  through.  You  remember  how  it  used  to  be, 
don't  you? 

Elias.  [Who  has  been  gazing  steadily  into  her  face  all  the 
time]  In  spite  of  all  changes,  you  haven't  changed  in  the 
least,  Rachel.  I  think  you  could  begin  right  now  to  take 
care  of  the  eiders  again. 

Rachel.  Yes,  if  you  were  with  me! 

Elias.  Let  me  have  a  real  look  at  you 

Rachel.  Elias! 

Elias.  [Drawing  her  still  closer]  You're  like  the  eider-down. 
When  we  were  picking  it,  we  used  always  to  wonder  how  the 
young  birds  could  tear  themselves  away  from  it — do  you 
remember? 

Rachel.  Yes.  And  yet  they  would  go  very,  very  far  away 
from  it. 

Elias.  Yes, they  did  go  very  far  away.  [Almost  in  a  whisper] 
Good-bye,  Rachel! 

Rachel.  Are  you  going  already? 

Elias.  I  must — but  I  feel  as  if  I  couldn't  take  my  arms 
away  from  you. 

Rachel.  Hold  me  fast  instead! 

Elias.  There  is  one  thing  in  this  life  that  we  two  never 
had. 

Rachel.  Don't  let  us  talk  of  it.  What  we  have  is  so  much 
greater. 

Elias.  And  yet,  in  the  midst  of  what  is  greatest,  there  are 
moments  when  we  do  nothing  but  long  for  what  we  never 
had. 

Rachel.  Moments  of  tender  dreams! 

Elias.  Moments  of  tender  dreams!!  [Kissing  her]  In  you 
I  kiss  all  those  wondrous  things  that  have  been  denied  me. 
And  then  I  kiss  yourself — just  you!  [Giving  her  a  long  kiss] 
Good-bye,  Rachel! 


170  BEYOND  HLALVN  MIGHT  actii 

Rachel.  To-morrow,  then? 
Elias.  You'll  hear  from  me  to-morrow. 
Rachel.  You'll  come  yourself,  of  course? 
Elias.  If  I  can.— Dear  little  Eider-down! 

He  embraces  her,  kisses  her  once  more,  and  goes  toward 
the  door;   there  he  stops  for  a  moment. 
Rachel.  What  is  it,  Elias? 

Elias  makes  a  gesture  ivith  one  hand  as  if  brushing  aside 

something. 
Rachel  is  still  standing  on  the  same  spot,  with  her  eyes 
on  the  doorway,  irlien  a  knock  at  the  irindoio  is  heard. 
She  wakes  up  and  turns  around.     Then  she  goes  to 
the  window  and  opens  it. 
Spera.  [Leaping  in  through  the  window  as  before]  Who  was 
that,  Rachel? 

Credo.  [Coming  in  after  his  sister]  It  was  your  brother, 
wasn't  it? 

Rachel.  Yes. 

Spera.  He  must  be  weighed  down  by  some  great  sorrow. 
Rachel.  Could  you  see  that? 
Credo.  Indeed!     What  is  it  he  wants? 
Spera.  Something  big? 
Credo.  Where  is  he  going? 
Spera.  Somewhere  very  far  away,  isn't  he? 
Rachel.  We  are  going  together. 
Both.  Where?     When? 

Rachel.  To   our   home   in    the   Northland.     Perhaps   to- 
morrow  

Credo.  But  why  did  he  say  good-bye  to  you  then? 
Spera.  As  if  he  were  never  going  to  see  you  again? 
Rachel.  Did  he? — No,  you  misunderstood!     He  acts  like 
that  when  he  is  unhappy — always.     He  just  won't  let  go. 


ACTn  BEYOND   HUMAN  MIGHT  171 

A  door-bell  rings.  Credo  and  Spera  disappear  through 
the  window  again,  and  Rachel  closes  it  after  them. 
Then  a  knock  is  heard  at  the  door. 

Rachel.  Come! 

Bratt.  [Enters,  breathless  and  distracted]  Isn't  he  here? 

Rachel.  You  mean  my  brother.''  [Eagerly]  Has  something 
happened  ? 

Bratt.  Hasn't  he  been  here.'' 

Rachel.  Yes — didn't  you  meet  him? 

Bratt.  He  has  been  here — as  I  thought.  What  did  he  say? 
What  has  he  in  mind? 

Rachel.  What  does  he  intend  to  do,  you  mean? 

Bratt.  I  can  see  that  you  don't  know — -that  you  didn't 
talk  of  it. 

Rachel.  No — he  will  be  back  here  to-morrow. 

Bratt.  [Quickbj]  To-morrow! 

Rachel.  Or  he'll  send  me  word. 

Bratt.  What  could  he  mean  by  that?  [Nearer  to  her]  Did 
he  mention  me,  Rachel? 

Rachel.  No — well,  perhaps —  I  think  he  spoke  of  you 
quite  casually. 

Bratt.  Only  casually.  [With  decision]  Then  he  is  hiding 
something. 

Rachel.  He  said  that  you  hadn't  seen  each  other  for  a 
long  while — until  to-day. 

Bratt.  Did  he  also  say  that  I  had  seen  him  and  not  recog- 
nised him?  Tell  me,  did  he?  Which  would  mean  that  he 
had  been  disguised. 

Rachel.  [Smiling]  Elias?     I  can  never  believe  it. 

Bratt.  He  was  never  at  home  at  night. 

Rachel.  Yes,  so  he  told  me — that  he  didn't  sleep,  I  mean. 
— But,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Bratt,  what  is  it? 

Bratt.  I  can't  tell  all  at  once.    And  you  would  probably 


172  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  actii 

not  understand  me,  as  I  have  nothing  definite  to  go  bj — 
no  clear  expression,  no  tangible  act. 

Rachel.  But  if  you  don't 

Bratt.  Yes,  yes,  it's  just  as  certain  nevertheless. — O 
that  I  should  once  more  have  to — !  AVait  a  minute,  please; 
I'll  try  to  explain.  That's  why  I  came  here,  of  course. — And 
he  and  I  who  have  been  such  friends,  Rachel!  What 
hasn't  he  been  to  me ! 

Rachel.  But  that  isn't  over,  is  it.^ 

Bratt.  There  is  somebody  who  has  taken  him  away  from 
me! 

Rachel.  What  do  you  say.^ 

Bratt.  I  didn't  understand.  How  could  I  possibly  under- 
stand? Seeing  it  was  Elias.  Not  until  we  met  again  to- 
day— then  I  saw  it  at  once!  And  the  more  he  said,  the 
more  clearly  I  saw  it. 

Rachel.  I  don't  know  yet  what  it  is! 

Bratt.  There  is  somebody  who  has  taken  him  away  from 
me!  It's  as  sure  as  that  fall  comes  after  summer,  and  death 
after  fall. — By  stirring  his  imagination.  By  starting  his  im- 
petuous craving  for  achievement  into  more  and  more  violent 
vibrations.  Under  such  circumstances,  how  could  he  possibly 
feel  satisfied  among  us?  He  was  yearning  to  achieve  some- 
thing tremendous — all  at  once,  with  one  blow. 

Rachel.  [Alarmed]  What  could  that  be? 

Bratt.  Elias  is  so  easily  led  astray — he  is  so  (juick  to 
believe 

Rachel.  Yes,  indeed.     But  who  could 

Bratt.  Somebody  who  has  made  the  strike  seem  very 
petty  to  him — a  mere  mistake,  or  something  still  worse.  So 
that  Elias  became  horrified  and  was  seized  with  dreadful  re- 
morse. Then  the  misery  he  had  to  see  became  unendur- 
able to  him.     That's  the  way  it  must  have  happened. — So 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  173 

he  wished  to  make  up  for  what  had  been  lost — to  make 
up  by  means  of  something  that  would  draw  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  world  to  our  misery — something  entirely  new,  some- 
thing never  heard  of  before.  That's  how  it  must  have  hap- 
pened. 

Rachel.  [More  atid  more  frightened]  But  what — what.^ 

Bratt.  Wait!  You'll  misunderstand  him  if  I  don't  ex- 
plain myself  first.  For  the  fault  isn't  his. — To  me  he  didn't 
say  a  word — although  the  responsibility,  the  fault  was  as 
much  mine  as  his — not  a  word  of  reproach.  He  wanted  to 
take  it  all  on  himself — by  enormous  sacrifices.  Now  he  has 
given  us  his  entire  fortune. 

Rachel.  His  entire  fortune — Elias? 

Bratt.  Something  he  said  made  me  suspect  it.  Now  I 
know.  It  is  true!  He  has  given  us  everything  he  possessed. 
He  had  one  thousand  crowns  left  yesterday — this  he  gave  us 
to-day — all  at  once. 

Rachel.  [In  a  tone  that  shows  her  admiration]  He  shall  lack 
for  nothing! 

Bratt.  Oh,  it  isn't  that!  But  in  that  way  he  has  entirely 
misled  us.  He  has  been  sending  us  these  sums  from  east  and 
west  and  north  and  south,  until  we  were  made  to  believe  in 
a  wide-spread  public  sympathy.  But  to-morrow  it  will  be 
all  over.  Beginning  with  to-morrow,  we  shall  only  have 
enough  to  meet  the  barest  necessity— and  in  a  little  while 
we  shall  not  even  have  that  much.  Nothing  but  unspeakable 
misery ! 

Rachel.  My  poor  friend ! 

Bratt.  You  may  well  say  that,  for  the  blame  is  mine. 
You  mustn't  put  it  on  him.  Nobody  can  put  it  on  him. 
That's  why  I  must  explain  myself. 

Rachel.  I  am  listening. 

Bratt.  A  while  ago  I  had  reached  my  highest  point  of  faith 


174  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  n 

in  myself — where  my  feeling  told  me:  "God  is  on  our  side!" 
My  sense  of  power  sprang  from  the  reliance  placed  in  me  by 
the  others — and  nothing  surpasses  such  a  feeling.  Then  came 
Elias — and  before  I  knew  what  was  happening  he  had  taken 
the  ground  from  under  my  feet. 

Rachel.  Dear  friend ! 

Bratt.  But  how  can  a  man  who  has  gone  through  what  I 
have  gone  through — how  can  it  be  possible  for  him  to  believe 
a  second  time?  And  to  believe  still  more  strongly  because 
of  his  earlier  mistake?  That's  where  the  trouble  lies.  And  in 
this  there  is  no  mistake!  [He  hides  his  face. 

Rachel.  My  dear,  dear  friend ! 

Bratt.  [Looking  sharply  at  her]  Now  and  then  I  have  en- 
countered a  face  that  seemed  to  ask:  "Can  you  find  the  right 
road?     Can  you  lead  others  along  that  road?" 
Rachel  shrinks  back. 

Bratt.  [Folloioing  her]  Tell  me  now :  that  was  the  doubt  in 
your  mind,  wasn't  it? 

Rachel.  Yes. 

Bratt.  And  that's  why  you  didn't  stay  with  me? 

Rachel.  Yes. 

Br.\tt.  [Goes  up  close  to  her,  she  drawing  back  from  hitn]  I 
don't  help  people.  I  lead  them  astray.  Instead  of  guiding,  I 
misguide.  I  always  achieve  the  opposite  of  what  I  want. 
All  I  can  do  is  to  overreach  myself — make  a  mess  of  it — and 
bring  all  to  despair.  Isn't  that  so?  There  can  be  only  one 
end  to  it:  my  downfall,  with  the  curses  of  thousands  following 
me. 

Rachel.  [Going  up  to  him]  If  anything  should  happen — I 
think  so  much  of  you — have  from  the  very  first 

Bratt.  Yet  you  wouldn't  stay  with  me? 

Rachel.  You  are  a  big  man,  and  an  honest  man.  But 
you  take  all  my  strength  away  from  me. 


ACT  II  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  175 

Bratt.  There  you  have  said  it  yourself! 

Rachel.  Yes,  you  carry  me  beyond  what  is  clear  to  mj-self. 

Bratt.  There  you  see! 

Rachel.  It's  a  part  of  your  nature.     You  can't  help  it. 

Bratt.  A  man  of  no  matter  how  forceful  nature — if  his 
mind  had  been  sown  with  sensible  thoughts  from  childhood 
up,  and  if  he  had  learned  to  watch  and  grasp  real  life  instead 
of  spending  his  time  wool-gathering  in  another  world — do  you 
think  he  would  lead  anybody  astray.^ 

Rachel.  No. 

Bratt.  Here  we  come  tumbling  headlong  out  of  the  mil- 
lennium— ready  to  save  the  world.  But  while  we  were  stray- 
ing abroad,  the  world  has  turned  into  a  pretty  tough  problem 
— one  that  our  brains  are  far  from  prepared  for. — That's  the 
thought  that  struck  me  while  I  was  scrambling  up  the  hill 
a  moment  ago. — Either  our  fancy  is  extravagant,  or  else  our 
will.  So  there  is  always  somethmg  in  us  that  carries  us 
beyond  our  power.  We,  who  have  seen  people  go  to  heaven 
in  golden  chariots;  who  have  seen  angels  in  the  sky  and  devils 
surrounded  by  eternal  fire;  who  have  been  hungering  for 
miracles — how  could  we  possibly  have  the  kind  of  brains 
needed  to  deal  with  real  life?  Oh,  no! — We  are  to  be  pitied, 
Rachel!  We  are  always  miscalculating  the  distance  in  front 
of  us.  We  are  always  starting  out  haphazardly.  Our  con- 
sciences can  be  no  reliable  guides  to  us,  for  they  have  never 
been  at  home  on  earth  or  in  the  present.     We  are  always 

striving  for  Utopias,  for  the  boundless 

'     Rachel,  For  the  boundless "^ 

Bratt.  Now  you  understand .f* 

Rachel.  Elias ? 

Bratt.  Of  course. — I  have  lured  him  on  too  far.  I  failed 
to  understand  that  a  nature  like  his  should  never  have  been 
dragged  into  a  thing  like  this. 


176  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  acth 

Rachel.  Never! 

Bratt.  Now  he  is  plunging  liimself  and  us  into  that  which 
knows  of  no  hounds.  Soon  somctliing  dreadful  is  going  to 
happen.  When  he  gave  all  he  had,  he  did  it  with  the  thought 
of  giving  himself,  too. 

Rachel.  Himself,  too?     Elias- — ? 

Bratt.  With  the  thought  of  sacrificing  himself  in  order 
that  he  might  carry  hundreds  of  the  others  along  with  him  to 
destruction.  He  must  have  been  planning  it  for  a  long  time, 
and  now  it  is  about  to  happen.     Do  you  understand ? 

Rachel.  No. 

Bratt.  Don't  you  itnderstand .' 

Rachel  utters  a  cry  and  falls  doicn  senseless. 

Bratt.  Yes,  it's  better  so!  If  I  could  only  drop  down 
beside  you,  never  to  wake  again! 

[He  kneels  at  her  side,  bending  over  her. 

Curtain. 


ACT  III 

An  immense  hall.  A  raised  throne-like  chair  occupies  the  centre 
of  the  left  wall,  flanked  on  both  sides  by  seats  icith  richly 
carved  and  very  tall  backs  that  are  fastened  to  the  walls. 
The  same  kind  of  seats  are  along  the  other  tico  walls,  while, 
for  this  special  occasion,  a  large  number  of  chairs  have 
been  scattered  over  the  floor. 

In  the  rear  are  tivo  huge,  arched  windows  that  do  not  break  the  line 
of  seats.  Doors  in  the  same  style  as  the  windoivs  appear 
on  both  sides  close  to  the  rear  corners.  The  ceiling  is  of 
wood,  with  deeply  sunk  panels  and  beautifully  carved.  The 
walls  are  hung  xoith  draperies,  coats  of  arms,  and  flags, 
and  between  these  are  placed  fresh  green  branches. 

HoLGER  is  seated  on  the  throne,  tvith  a  small  table  in  front  of  him. 
The  seats  and  the  chairs  are  filled  with  delegates  representing 
the  factory  owners  throughout  the  country.  Other  delegates 
are  constajitly  passing  in  and  out  through  the  two  doorways. 
Each  time  the  discussion  gets  more  heated  they  swarm  in 
from  both  sides,  only  to  disappear  again  after  a  while.  Serv- 
ants in  medioeval  costumes  carry  around  tall  tankards  filled 
with  various  kinds  of  drinks,  which  they  serve  in  goblets  and 
tumblers. 

Anker.  [He  is  standing  on  a  dais  just  in  front  of  the  throne; 
on  the  dais  is  a  small  table  for  the  speaker,  and  a  larger  one  at 
ichich  tivo  secretaries  are  seated]  Once,  on  a  very  memorable 
occasion,  some  one  remarked  that  "Beelzebub  cannot  cast 
out  Beelzebub."  I  have  made  this  my  creed  in  the  present 
177 


178  BEYOxXD   HUALVN   MIGHT  act  m 

case.  We  must  not  set  evil  against  evil.  For  in  that  way 
we  can  never  bring  out  what  is  good  in  people.  And  if  we 
cannot  bring  out  what  is  good,  we  have  nothing  whatever  to 
build  on.     And  then  there  is  no  future  before  us. 

[He  steps  down  in  the  midst  of  general  silence. 

HoLGER.  Mr.  Mo  has  the  floor. 

]Mo.  [Ascends  the  platform,  while  a  number  of  delegates  come 
hurrying  in  from  the  side  rooms]  On  behalf  of  the  fourteen — 
mind  you :  fourteen — factory  owners  in  my  city,  I  have  the 
honour  to  express  concurrence  in  Mr.  Holger's  plan.  And  we 
do  this  most  heartily.  [Cries  of  "Hear'"]  If  the  workmen  or- 
ganise against  us,  then  we  organise  against  them.  ["Hear"] 
We  give  our  support  to  the  entire  plan  and  to  all  its  separate 
clauses. — I  must  say  that  Mr.  Anker's  speech  has  greatly  sur- 
prised me.  [Cries  of  "Us,  too'']  I  think  every  factory  owner 
ought  to  see  the  advantage  of  having  all  the  factories  governed 
by  some  central  body  to  which  they  may  turn  for  guidance  in 
times  of  danger.  And  every  one  ought  to  understand  the 
advantage  of  having  every  conflict  with  the  workmen  placed 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  this  central  body — serving  at  once 
as  supreme  court  and  highest  executive.  What  we  lose  in 
freedom  we  gain  in  security.  Most  heartily  do  we  subscribe 
to  this  plan.  Let  the  workmen  find  out  that,  if  they  make 
trouble,  they'll  run  up  against  a  power  that  is  not  hampered  by 
any  kind  of  consideration.  That  will  make  them  meek,  I  think 
— while  it  will  make  us  more  respected  than  we  have  ever  been. 
As  soon  as  we  can  get  the  factory  owners  of  another  country  to 
form  a  similar  organisation,  we'll  join  hands  with  them.  And 
in  the  end  we  shall  have  an  organisation  covering  all  civilised 
countries.  Holger's  plan  is  a  splentlid  one.  And  I  [turning 
toward  Anker]  have  no  fear  whatever  of  the  conset|uenees. 
The  expression  used  by  Mr.  Anker — that  this  is  '*to  place  a 
small  minority  of  mankind  in  opi)osiliuii  to  its  vast  majority" 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  179 

— is  totally  misleading.  For  mankind  is,  after  all,  made  up 
of  something  else  than  factory  owners  and  factory  hands. 
There  can  hardly  be  any  question  as  to  which  side  offers  the 
greater  advantage  to  all  the  other  people.  ["Hear,  hear"]  We 
and  the  other  people — there  you  have  the  state.  The  state 
belongs  to  us,  as  it  has  always  done  and  always  will.  With 
all  my  heart  I  concur. 

Repeated  cries  of  "Hear,  hear,  hear''  are  followed  by  an 
outburst  of  applause  and  general  conversation  as  Mo 
steps  down  from  the  dais. 

HoLGER.  Mr.  John  Sverd  has  the  floor. 

A  Delegate.  Question! 

Several  Others.  Question!     Question! 

Almost  All.  Question! 

Sverd.  [Mounting  the  dais,  places  a  portfolio  on  the  table 
in  front  of  him]  You  don't  need  to  be  so  explicit,  my  dear 
friends.  I  know  fairly  well  how  the  land  lies.  As  a  chemist, 
you  see,  I  am  accustomed  to  analyse  things.  [Laughter]  If 
nevertheless  I  stand  here,  it's  merely  because  I  have  prom- 
ised my  colleagues — those  whom  I  have  the  honour  of  rep- 
resenting— to  place  their  opinions  before  you. 

A  Delegate.  Which  have  been  dictated  by  yourself! 

Another  Delegate.  Dictator! 

Sverd.  If  I  exercise  any  dictatorship,  it  must  be  one  of 
"persuasion." 


Mo.  And  now  you're  going  to  try  it 


on  us 


Sverd.  [Good-humouredly]  With  your  gracious  permission — 
so  I  will.  For  I  happen  to  have  at  my  disposal  an  argument 
which  no  man  of  brains  can  resist. 

Several.  Well,  well! 

Sverd.  I'll  hand  it  out  at  once.  As  this  honourable  gather- 
ing probably  knows,  our  factories  are  located  in  the  country. 


180  BEYOND   HUMAN  MIGHT  actih 

And  the  workmen  in  these  factories  have  already  olitaiiied 
almost  everything  that  is  in  dispute  here  now! 

Several.  [Interrupting  him]  Oh.  yes.  in  the  cduntry! 
That's  another  story! 

A  Delegate.  [At  the  top  of  his  voice]  Smaller  conditions — 
and  everything  new! 

Mo.  Show  us  your  books! 

SvERD.  [Pointing  to  the  portfolio]  I  bring  with  me  certified 
copies  of  our  balances  during  the  last  few  years.  We  are  get- 
ting along — in  a  modest  way,  but  we  are  getting  along. 

Several.  In  a  modest  way,  yes. 

SvERD.  Yes,  we  are  content  with  moderate  profits — and 
perhaps  that's  the  main  difference  between  us  and  you 
gentlemen. 

Several.  Well,  well! 

A  Delegate.  Stick  to  your  own  business,  please! 

SvERD.  And  I  can  tell  you  another  thing.  All  our  work- 
men are  members  of  Bratt's  union,  and  they  take  Sang's 
paper.  You  bet  they  do !  And  neither  the  hills  above  us  nor 
the  falls  beside  us  have  had  their  complexions  spoiled  on  that 
account.  And  now  I  have  saved  the  worst  to  end  with: 
we  factory  owners  ourselves  are  members  of  Bratt's  union 
and  subscr 

A  Majority  of  the  Delegates.  [///  a  violent  outburst] 
Damn  his  cheek!  What  have  you  got  to  do  here?  Socialist! 
Anarchist!     Get  out!     Shut  up! 

Svehi).  I  fear  there  are  not  (|uile  so  many  men  of  brains 
present  as  I  thought! 

This  calls  forth  laughter  from  some  and  protests  from 
others. 

Mo.  [Shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice]  Yes,  that's  like  \our 
impudence! 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  181 

A  Delegate.  [Also  shouting]  How  about  your  own  head? 
Don't  you  belong  to  the  Numskull  family? 

SvERD.  If  I  do,  I  have  a  lot  of  relatives  here.  [Laughter]  I 
think  a  great  deal  of  that  family  and  hope  it  thinks  enough  of 
me  to  let  me  criticise  Mr.  Holger's  plan  brieflj^  What  I 
want  to  say  first  of  all  is  that  a  union  of  factory  owners  cover- 
ing the  whole  country — or  the  whole  world  even — is  possible 
only  if  you  get  all  the  factory  owners  with  you. 

Mo.  Well,  there'll  be  no  trouble  about  that! 

A  Delegate.  They'll  be  viade  to  join  us. 

Anker.  No  pressure ! 

Several.  Yes,  pressure  is  just  the  thing! 
An  outburst  of  talking  follows. 

Sverd.  Mr.  President! 

HoLGER  makes  no  sign  of  hearing  him. 

Anker.  [Shouting]  But  suppose  the  banks  should  stand  by 
the  others? 

Several.  They  won't  dare!     We'd  make  them  pay  for  it! 

Sverd.  But  perhaps  the  retail  dealers ? 

Many  Delegates.  Yes,  let  'em  try! 

Sverd.  It  means  we  shall  have  to  have  two  more  unions: 
one  of  bankers  and  one  of  retail  dealers. 

Mo.  We'll  boycott  the  bankers  and  undersell  the  dealers. 

Sverd.  There,  now — that's  another  use  for  the  defence 
fund !  And  then  you'll  have  to  fight  the  whole  Liberal  Party. 
Whereby  the  whole  thing  will  be  turned  into  politics. 

Mo.  What  else  is  it  now? 

Sverd.  Mo,  this  is  something  entirely  new!  A  union  of 
factory  owners  that  has  a  compulsory  membership  and  uses 
force  against  the  workmen,  that  boycotts  the  banks  and  goes 
to  war  with  the  retail  dealers — this  is  a  novelty,  indeed! 

Anker.  That  will  never  succeed — not  in  all  eternity! 

Many.  [Angrily]  It  shall  succeed ! 


182  BEYOND  HLWIAN  MIGHT  actiu 

SvERD,  [Quickly]  Grant  that  it  succeeds!  That  it  suc- 
ceeds splen(HdIy!  You  control  the  employers,  the  workmen, 
the  market — which  means  that  indirectly  you  control  both 
local  and  national  authorities.  What  will  be  the  outcome? 
That  sooner  or  later  you  gentlemen  overreach  yourselves— so 
much  power  being  a  direct  temptation  to  that  sort  of  thing— 
whereupon  we'll  have  an  uprishig  more  fierce  in  its  bitterness 
than  any  of  the  religious  wars  waged  by  our  ancestors.  Will 
that  be  progress,  do  you  think.^  No,  retrogression — that's 
what  it  means:  a  backsliding  to  savagery  that  will  lead  to  the 
destruction  of  our  machinery,  the  burning  of  our  finished 
products,  the  killing  of  our  foremen.  We  have  already  had  a 
taste  of  it — for  the  fight  is  on  at  the  outposts. 

Anker.  That's  true ! 

SvERD.  And  what  kind  of  a  war  will  it  be?  On  whom  do 
you  think  the  burden  of  it  will  fall?  On  both  sides!  On  the 
employers  as  well  as  on  the  workmen!  It  would  be  much 
more  convenient  for  both  sides  to  stay  at  home  and  merely 
send  word  to  each  other  that,  at  a  certain  stroke  of  the  clock, 
they  would— on  either  side — set  fire  to  all  they  hail,  and  then 
take  care  that  the  flames  spread  to  the  whole  city  in  which 
they  lived,  thus  paralysing  the  country  they  should  serve! 

Against  their  own  will,  a  number  of  delegates  are  moved 
to  applause. 

Mo.  Tell  that  to  the  workmen! 

SvERD.  Both  sides  have  to  be  told  that  they  are  plunging 
headlong  into  what  is  impossible  and  unnatural.  Back  of  it 
must  lie  some  unreasoning  racial  instinct — something  akin 
to  what  turns  us  toward  the  supernatural  in  our  search  for 
poetry  and  greatness.  But  I  tell  you.  the  day  will  come  wluii 
man  discovers  that  there  is  more  of  greatness  and  poetr\-  in 
what  is  natural  and  possible — however  insignificant  it  may 
seem  at  times — than    in   all    the    sui)ernaturuli.sm    we    have 


ACT  HI  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  183 

ever  had,  from  the  oldest  sun-myth  down  to  the  latest  sermon 
preached  about  it.  And  if  both  parties  to  this  conflict  couhl 
only  stick  to  plain  reality,  what  do  you  think  they  would  dis- 
cover? That  the  enemy  which  they  both  fight  has  nothing  in 
common  with  either  of  them.  That  he  is  thriving  on  their 
strife,  because  it  places  both  of  them  more  securely  in  his 
clutch.     I  am  thinking  of  the  capitalist. 

A  Shrill  Tenor  Voice.  You'd  better  leave  the  capital- 
ist alone! 

SvERD.  Mj^  dear  sir — why  in  the  world  should  I  leave  the 
capitalist  alone.'*  Especially  as  we  all  know  that  in  a  young 
country  like  ours  almost  everybody  has  to  operate  with  bor- 
rowed money  and  would  like  very  much  to  avoid  doing  so. 
But  the  capitalist 

Shrill  Tenor  Voice.  Leave  the  capitalist  alone! 

SvERD.  [Imitating  the  voice  of  the  interrupter]  Is  he  sacred, 
perhaps?  [Laughter. 

Mo.  I  am  quite  of  the  same  opinion.  These  endless,  use- 
less complaints  against  the  capitalist 

SvERD.  [Taking  the  word  out  of  Mo's  mouth]  Complaints 
against  the  capitalist,  you  say? 

Shrill  Tenor  Voice.  Leave  the  capitalist  alone! 

[Everybody  roars  with  laughter. 

Sverd.  Mr.  President,  won't  you  please  stop  these  annoy- 
ing interruptions? 

When  HoLGER  pays  no  attention  to  the  request,   the 
laughter  is  renewed  and.  is  mingled  with  applause. 

Sverd.  This  means  that  you  refuse  me  freedom  of  speech. 
It  means  that  neither  the  president  nor  the  meeting  will 
grant  me  freedom  of  speech.  [Cries  of  "Hear"  and  laughter] 
This  was  just  what  I  expected,  and  for  that  reason  I  brought 
with  me  a  stenographer. 

His  words  provoke  a  storm  of  protest. 


184  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  m 

All,  That  isn't  allowed!  The  proeeedings  are  secret! 
Nothing  must  be  reported! 

SvERD.  Nothing  but  publicity  will  help  where  the  right  of 
debate  is  denied.  [At  the  top  of  his  voice]  I  brought  a  phon- 
ograph, too. 

Putting  his  portfolio  under  his  arm,  he  steps  smilingly 
from  the  dais. 

All.  Mephisto!  Charlatan!  Just  what  we  expected! 
And  you  talk  of  freedom ! 

HoLGER.  [In  a  voice  that  rises  above  the  din]  Mr.  Ketil  has 
the  floor. 

This  announcement  is  greeted  with  applause  and  cries  of 
"^  Bravo.'" 

Ketil.  Who  has  been  standing  in  the  rear  of  the  hall,  calls  to 
SvERD,  who  is  seen  leaving  with  two  men,  one  of  whom  carries  a 
small  box]  Are  you  going.'* 

SvERD.  [Gayly]  Yes. 

Ketil.  But  I  was  just  going  to  reply  to  what  you  said. 

SvERD.  Oh,  there  are  plenty  left  who  will  enjoy  it. 

He  botes  and  goes  out  while  the  laughter  provoked  by  his 
reply  is  still  lasting. 

Ketil.  [Mounting  the  dais]  We  have  just  been  told  how 
dreadful  it  would  be  for  us  to  do  what  the  workmen  have 
been  doing  right  along. 

Several.  Hear,  hear! 

Ketil.  We  learned  long  ago  tliat  we  had  no  right  to  take 
the  initiative  in  our  dealings  with  the  workmen.  But  that  we 
have  just  as  little  right  to  follow  their  lead,  that's  something 
new.  [Signs  of  merriment]  There  is  only  one  thing  we  can  do: 
obey  the  workmen.  Everything  else  is  dangerous.  Conse- 
quently: let's  raise  their  wages — so  they  can  spend  a  little 
more  on  drink.  [Laughter  and  cries  of  "'Hear,  hear"]  I  need 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  185 

hardly  tell  you  that  the  workmen  must  share  in  the  profits — 
especially  when  there  are  none  to  share.  [Ge7ieral  merriment] 
It  follows,  of  course,  that  we  must  give  them  a  voice  in  run- 
ning the  business — which,  I  am  sure,  will  make  the  banks 
much  more  anxious  to  grant  us  credit.  [Merriment]  Just  now, 
when  the  competition  is  more  keen  than  ever,  we  are  to  surren- 
der both  profits  and  control — which  will  lead  us  to  a  fine  end, 
I  am  sure!  [Wild  applause]  What  can  property  in  private 
hands  mean  but  slavery  to  all  the  rest.''  No,  indeed — prop- 
erty for  nobody,  and  poverty  for  all:  that's  the  ideal!  [Tre- 
mendous outburst  of  approval]  Freedom  cannot  exist  side  by 
side  with  the  power  of  money.  Poverty  and  freedom :  there's 
the  ideal  for  you !  [Applause  as  before]  Mr.  Anker,  who  is  a 
God-fearing  man,  spoke  most  touchingly  about  the  vices  of 
wealth — that  is,  about  the  vices  of  those  who  are  wealthy  or 
hope  to  become  so.  And  we  heard  of  sloth,  and  prodigality, 
and  luxury,  and  immorality,  and  lust  of  power,  and  brutal 
contempt  for  other  people.  These  are  the  vices  that  generally 
go  with  wealth.  How  much  better,  then,  are  the  vices  of  the 
workmen!  For  I  suppose,  if  such  a  mean  thought  be  at  all 
permissible,  that  they  have  theirs  as  well.  Filthiness,  sloven- 
liness, slavishness,  envy,  drunkenness,  thievishness,  brawling, 
and  a  murder  now  and  then — nay,  in  these  days,  when  an- 
archism is  rampant  among  them,  mass-murder.  I  can't  say 
that  I  care  very  much  for  any  of  these  vices,  whether  they 
belong  to  ourselves  or  to  the  other  side.  But  if  it  be  that  each 
side  must  have  its  own,  why  speak  only  of  those  that  go 
with  wealth?  Is  it  because  the  vices  of  the  workmen  are  so 
much  more  repulsive?  [Laughter  and  applause]  Or  can  it  really 
be  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Anker — who  is  a  God-fearing  man — 
that  these  vices  will  be  disposed  of  by  letting  the  workmen 
share  in  the  profits?  Does  he  mean  that  profit-sharing  is  a 
cause  of  repentance — to  them  as  well  as  to  us?  [Strong  ap- 


18G  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  actui 

protml]  To  me  that  kind  of  rant — I  hope  you'll  panlon  the 
term! — to  me  it  seems  rather  weak-minded.  [Laughter]  Like 
all  the  rant  about  morality  we  have  to  hear  whenever  we 
want  to  do  anything  worth  while,  anything  really  effective. 
As  I  see  it,  the  main  trouble  lies  just  in  our  morality.  [Roars 
of  laughter]  The  danger  of  which  we  have  heard  so  much  here 
is  just  that  we  always  are  so  dreadfully  moral.  [Tumultuous 
applause  and  cries  of  "  ThaVs  right"]  It  prevents  us  from  de- 
fending the  existing  order,  the  state,  the  country — all  that  we 
possess  and  want  to  pass  on  to  our  children — from  defending 
it  in  such  a  manner  that  they  are  made  to  realise  and  re- 
member that  here  is  something  not  to  be  t.\mpered  with. 
And  until  this  is  done,  we'll  never  have  peace. 

As  Ketil  steps  doicn  he  is  given  an  ovation.  Before  it  is 
over,  most  of  those  present  are  on  their  feet,  talking 
eagerly. 

HoLGER.  [Wlien  the  hubbub  quiets  down  a  little]  "Well,  now — 
Mr.  Anker  waats  to  be  heard  again. 

A  Delegate.  Oh,  have  we  got  to  have  more  of  Anker? 

Many.  We  don't  want  any  more  of  Anker! 

Another  Delegate.  We  have  had  enough  of  that  anchor! 

[Laughter. 

Third  Delegate.  Let's  try  another. 

Fourth  Delegate.  No  more  anchoring !     Question! 

Many.  Question! 

Anker.  [Who  in  the  mean  time  has  ascended  the  dais]  No,  I 
think  you'll  have  to  have  another  try  at  my  anchor  first. 
[Laughter]  The  other  one  seemed  inclined  to  drag,  I  should 
say — although  it  went  down  with  a  big  splash.  [Cries  of 
"  Well,  welV ;  many  delegates  go  out,  talking  more  or  less  loudly 
as  they  leave]  The  new  time,  the  new  onler  that  is  coming — 
whether  we  want  it  or  not — means  just  that  there  shall  bt; 


ACT  III  BEYOND   HUMAN  MIGHT  187 

neither  great  wealth  nor  great  poverty.  There  is  something 
half-way  between  those  two,  and  that  is  what  is  coming. 
And  as  we  get  nearer  to  it  by  degrees,  the  vices  characterising 
both  wealth  and  poverty  will  drop  away.  This  is  what  we 
ought  to  realise  in  time — and  by  doing  so  we'll  avoid  these 
incessant  dreadful  conflicts.  A  previous  speaker  remarked 
that  there  must  be  something  the  matter  with  us  because  we 
so  rarely  take  hold  in  a  proper  way.  He  seemed  to  think  that 
we  were  caught  in  something  that  is  beyond  our  power.  No 
matter  what  that  something  may  be — I  am  sure  it  exists.  To 
me  our  extravagant  war  budget,  our  enormous  administrative 
expenses,  our  wasteful  private  living,  are  very  serious  symp- 
toms: the  life  we  live  is  beyond  our  power.  But  for  this  fact, 
anarchism  would  be  impossible.  The  lack  of  responsibility, 
the  utter  lack  of  moral  stamina,  displayed  by  our  men  of 
means  in  their  wasting  of  millions,  as  if  there  were  nobody  in 
the  country  but  themselves  and  those  serving  their  pleas- 
ures: that's  also  anarchism — not  a  whit  less  brutal — and  a 
rebellion  against  the  laws  of  God  and  man.  It  is  like  cry- 
ing to  all  the  rest:  "You,  too — do  just  what  you  please!" 

Ketil.  [Rising]  Mr.  President. 

As  HoLGER  is  seen  to  note  down  his  name,  a  ripple  of 
pleasant  anticipation  passes  through  the  assembly. 

Anker.  The  same  is  true  of  literature — of  that  litera- 
ture which  appeals  to  the  wealthy  and  well-to-do — to  the 
so-called  "educated"  classes.  When  it  shows  the  same 
spirit — when  it  preaches  unrestrained  individualism — when 
it  tears  down  everything  and  urges  the  violation  of  law  and 
good  manners  alike — then  it  is  a  form  of  anarchism  as  much 
as  that  which  hurls  dynamite  to  kill. 

A  Delegate.  Mr.  President,  I  think  we  are  getting  too 
far  away  from  the  question  before  us. 

Many.  Order!     Order! 


188  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  m 

Several.  Question!     Question! 

A  number  of  oilier  delegates  stream  in  from  the  side  rooms 
and  join  in  the  cry  of  "Question.'''' 
AxKER.  There  is  no  one  in  tlie  world  who  has  the  right  to 
do  what  he  pleases  with  his  own. 
A  Delegate.  You  bet  we  have! 

AxKER.  Indeed,  we  have  not!  Above  us  there  are  both 
written  and  unwritten  laws.  And  I  fear  that  you  will  break 
both,  and  especially  the  unwritten  ones,  if  you  try  to  enforce 
the  conditions  prescribed  for  the  workmen  in  Mr.  Holger's 
plan. 

Several.  [Talking  simidtaneousli/]  Oh,  you  can't  frighten 
us !     We  are  not  at  all  scared ! 

Anker.  I  find  those  conditions  revolting — a  breach  against 
written  as  well  as  unwritten  law.  And  I  am  sure  there  are 
many  here  who  agree  with  me.  [He  stops. 

Holger.  [Rising]  I  think  the  time  has  come  to  find  out. 
General  Outcry.  Yes,  yes! 

All  that  have  been  in  tlie  side  rooms  come  hurrying  itdo 
the  hall. 
Holger.  Will  those  who  agree  with  Mr.  Anker  please  sig- 
nify that  fact.  [Silence]  Will  they  please  speak  up.  I  mean. 

[Silence;  then  laughter. 
A  Delegate.  [At  last,  in  a  timid  voice]  I  agree  with  Mr. 
Anker. 

A  roar  of  laughter  greets  his  u-ords. 
Holger.  One  man — that's  all ! 

The  delegates  yell  and  stamp  on  the  floor. 
Anker.  If  that's  so,  I  must  apologise  for  taking  up  the 
time  of  the  meeting. 

lie  goes  toward  the  door,  followed  by  the  one  delegate  who 
agreed  with  hijn. 
A  Delegate.  Good  luck! 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  189 

Anker.  [In  the  doonvay]  That's  more  than  I  dare  to  wish 
you !  [He  disappears. 

HoLGER.  The  question  has  been  called  for. 
Many.  Yes,  yes! 

HoLGER.  Then  you  don't  want  to  hear  Mr.  Ketil  first.'' 
Everybody.  Oh,  yes,  yes!  [Applause. 

HoLGER.  But  there  is  one  speaker  before  Mr.  Ketil — Mr. 
Blom.  [Silence. 

Blom  rises — a  serious  man,  elegantly  dressed  in  black. 
He  has  not  taken  any  part  whatsoever  in  the  various 
demonstrations.     But  he  has  been  seen  from  time  to 
time  trying  to  catch  Holger's  attention,  not  succeed- 
ing until  a  few  inomcnts  before  Ketil  demanded  the 
floor. 
HoLGER.  I  suppose  you  are  also  in  favour  of  the  motion 
before  us? 
Blom.  I  am. 

HoLGER.  Mr.  Blom  has  the  floor. 

Blom.  [Mounting  the  dais]  May  I  ask  for  a  glass  of  water.' 
HoLGER.  [Looking  around;  many  delegates  do   the    same] 
What  has  become  of  the  servants? 

Several   delegates   hurry  to  the  side  doors  to  look  for 

servants. 

Mo.  Here's  one!  [He  beckons,  and  a  servant  appears. 

Blom.  Bring  me  a  glass  of  water — iced.  [The  servant  leaves] 

Our  country  has  already  lost  millions — millions.     The  annual 

profits  of  our  factories  are  already  swallowed  up.     And  more 

than  that. 

A  Delegate.  And  more  than  that. 

Blom.  [Politely]  And  more  than  that.     For  this  reason  the 
light-hearted — not  to  say  flippant — tone  characterising  these 
proceedings  has  offended  me  very  much. 
A  Delegate.  Very  much. 


190  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  act  in 

Blom.  [Politely]  Very  much.  We  shall  not  weather  the 
crisis  just  started — just  started — without  self-control  and 
discipline. 

A  Delegate.  And  discipline. 

Blom.  [Politeli/]  And  discipline.  [Laughter]  \^^len  we  pos- 
sess self-control  and  discipline,  then,  and  only  then,  can  we 

hope  to  have  with  us — on  our  side — that  power 

The  Servant  has  in  the  mean  time  returned  zvith  a  mag- 
nificent pitcher  and  an  equally  magnificent  goblet  on  a 
tray;  he  pours  water  into  tlie  goblet  and  offers  it  to 
Blom. 

Blom.  Which  is  the  greatest  of  all — namel.> 

[He  takes  tlie  goblet  and  drin/cs. 

A  Delegate.  Namely ? 

Second  Delegate.  The  army. 

Third  Delegate.  The  king. 

Fourth  Delegate.  The  voters. 

Fifth  Delegate.  The  ladies.  [Laughter. 

Sixth  Delegate.  The  cash.  [More  laughter. 

Blom.  [Putting  down  the  goblet]  I  mean  the  Church. 

Several.  Aw — the  Church! 

Blom.  The  Church.  Only  by  self-control  and  discipline 
can  we  get  the  Church  with  us. 

A  Delegate.  With  us. 

Blom.  [Politely]  With  us. 

Another  Delegate.  [Seated  very  far  back]  "What  the 
devil  do  we  want  with  the  Church  when  it  can't  make  the 
workmen  behave.^ 

Several.  Hear,  hear! 

A  Third  Delegate.  What  have  we  got  it  for,  any- 
how.'' 

Blom.  [Unmoved]  The  Church  docs  not  side  with  the  work- 
men.    We  can   see   that — sec    thai.      Hiil    ncillier  does   the 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  191 

Church  side  with  us,  because  we  lack  the  order  and  discipHnc 
we  want  to  enforce  on  the  workmen — on  the  workmen — and 
which  we  want  the  Church  to  help  us  enforce. 

A  Delegate.  To  help  us  enforce. 

Blom.  [Politely]  To  help  us  enforce.  I  agree  entirely 
with  the  proposed  plan.  But  unless  we  obtain  the  support 
of  the  Church,  the  carrying  out  of  it  will  be  impossible  to  us. 

A  Delegate.  Impossible  to  us. 

Blom.  [Politely]  Impossible  to  us.     That's  my  opinion. 

[He  steps  down. 

HoLGER.  Mr.  Ketil  has  the  floor. 

General  applause.     Everybody  pushes  forward  to  hear 
better. 

Ketil.  [Mounting  the  dais  during  the  applause]  Well,  well — • 
it's  ive,  then,  that  lack  discipline!  [Laughter  and  cries  of 
"Hear,  hear"]  And  the  Church,  poor  thing,  is  standing  there, 
not  knowing  what  to  do — not  daring  to  help  us  because  we 
lack  order  and  discipline.  [Laughter  and  cries  of  "Hear, 
hear"]  So  that's  the  reason  why  the  Church  has  always  been 
helping  those  that  had  the  power.'  And  we  must  suppose 
that  all  who  ever  held  power  have  also  had  self-control  and 
discipline!  [Signs  of  general  satisfaction]  Let  us  then  by  all 
means  get  hold  of  the  power,  so  that  we,  too,  can  be  sure  of 
the  Church!  [A  storm  of  approval  follows]  And  of  the  work- 
men also!  AVhen  the  French  Government  shot  down  ten 
thousand  of  them  at  Paris — including  all  the  worst  mischief- 
makers — there  came  peace  for  many  years.  A  little  blood- 
letting now  and  then  has  its  uses.  [Laughter;  cries  of  "Hear, 
hear";  talk  among  the  delegates]  I  understand  they  are  soon 
going  to  have  another  one  down  there.  [Laughter]  I  don't 
think  anything  of  that  kind  is  needed  here.  But  it  depends 
on  ourselves.  If  we  seize  the  power  to-day  and  show  that 
we  mean  to  keep  the  social  body  in  good  health,  even  if  it 


192  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  m 

takes  a  blood-letting  to  do  so,  then  I  think  we  may  escape 
it — but  not  otherwise.  [Loiid  cries  of  "Hear"]  Somebody  said 
here  a  while  ago  that  we  were  to  blame  for  the  anarchism 
of  the  others — that  we  were  anarchists  ourselves — and  that 
the  anarchism  on  both  sides  was  wrecking  the  national 
welfare.  Perhaps.  But  if  you  consider  what  some  fool  of 
a  millionaire,  or — to  mention  a  still  worse  fool — some  son  of 
a  millionaire  [laughter]  wastes  in  the  course  of  several  years: 
what  does  it  matter  in  comparison  with  what  a  strike  can 
waste  in  a  few  weeks?  Nay — if  you  turn  to  England,  or, 
still  more,  to  America — in  a  few  days,  when,  as  frequently 
happens,  the  striking  workmen  destroy  machinery,  burn 
millions'  worth  of  property,  bring  every  form  of  business  to  a 
standstill,  and  upset  the  markets  all  over  the  world. ^  With 
that  kind  of  human  beasts — always  lying  in  wait  within  the 
workmen,  no  matter  how  peaceful  they  may  seem — we  are 
to  share  the  control  of  our  business  and  the  profits  which 
guarantee  that  control.  And  having  to  deal  with  such 
people,  we  are  supposed  to  hesitate  about  seizing  the  power 
and  using  it  for  the  good  of  all!  [Loud  applau.ie]  Not  only 
do  I  cast  my  own  vote  for  every  point  of  ISIr.  Holger's  plan, 
but  I  demand  that  we  adopt  it  unanimously. 

He  steps  down  in  the  midst  of  a  tempestuous  ovation,  all 
except  Blom  rising  to  their  feet. 

A  Delegate.  Let's  carry  it  by  acclamation ! 

Everybody.  Yes,  yes!  [Applause. 

Mo.  Three  cheers  for  Holger — our  great  leader!     Hurrah! 
All  present  join  in,  including  Blom,  wlio  has  now  risen. 

Anker.  [Appearing  suddenly  in  the  doorway  with  the  man 
who  followed  him  out]  Beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  President,  but 
we  can't  get  out. 

Holger.  Can't  get  out? 

Anker.  All  the  doors  arc  locked. 


ACT  in  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  193 

HoLGER.  But  the  doorkeeper — eh? 

Anker.  The  doorkeeper  isn't  there. 

HoLGER.  What's  that.''  What  has  become  of  the  servants? 
Eh? 

Anker.  We  couldn't  find  any  servants. 

[Signs  of  general  anxiety. 

Mo.  But  one  of  them  was  here  a  moment  ago. 
Several  delegates  rush  to  the  doorways. 

A  Delegate.  There  he  is  now.  [He  beckons. 

The  Servant  enters. 

Holger.  One  of  the  extra  servants.  [To  the  Servant]  See 
that  these  gentlemen  get  out.  [The  Servant  looks  at  his 
watch  before  he  goes  out  with  Anker  and  the  other  delegates] 
And  try  to  find  the  doorkeeper.  Eh?— You  need  not  be  dis- 
turbed, gentlemen.  I  have  caused  the  doors  to  be  locked  in 
order  to  provide  against  intruders.  The  police  are  outside. 
And  I  suppose  the  servants  are  getting  ready  for  the  dinner. 

Several.  [In  tones  of  relief]  Oh,  that's  it! 

Holger.  This  interruption  has  prevented  me  from  express- 
ing my  gratitude  as  spontaneously  as  I  could  have  wished — ■ 
my  gratitude  for  this  splendid  tribute — and  also  for  the 
confidence  you  have  shown  me  by  the  adoption  of  my 
plan.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  disappoint  you.  I 
thank  you  also  for  helping  me  to  break  up  that  constitutional 
debate  into  which  we  found  ourselves  plunged  so  unex- 
pectedly. [Laughter]  The  tendency  to  play  at  parliament,  in 
season  and  out,  is  one  of  the  scourges  of  our  time.  Every 
idea  is  talked  to  death;  every  higher  aim  is  dragged 
down.  But  I  suppose  that  what  has  its  origin  in  a  choice 
exercised  by  mediocrity  can  hardly  act  otherwise.  [Cries 
of  "Hear,  hear"]  Please  be  seated,  gentlemen  [A  few  sit 
down,  a  majority  remain  standing]  The  action  we  have  taken 
here   now   I   regard   as   decisive.     As  I  see  it,   it  is  a  great 


194  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  actiii 

event  and  it  has  been  the  chief  aim  of  my  life.  [Cries  of 
"Hear"]  Shortly  before  I  had  the  honour  of  bidding  you  wel- 
come, I  had  a  conference  with  the  workmen,  at  which  I  had 
once  more  to  hear  that  they,  and  not  we,  have  built  the 
factories — that  they  are  making  the  money  we  are  living  on. 
And  we  know,  of  course,  that  the  same  is  true  of  the  state: 
they  have  built  it,  and  they  are  maintaining  it.  All  we  do 
is  to  live  by  their  efforts. — But  the  truth  is,  that  at  no  time 
or  place  have  the  efforts  of  scattered  workers  achieved  any- 
thing like  that.  They  have  never  been  able  to  reach  beyond 
their  own  needs — beyond  the  earning  of  bare  necessities. 
Only  the  co-ordination  of  such  efforts  could  achieve  something 
more  by  uniting  great  numbers  in  the  pursuit  of  a  common 
goal.  This  work  of  co-ordination  used  to  rest  principally  on 
the  big  landowners  and  the  great  guilds.  Those  were  the 
men  of  power  that  built  our  societies.  The  warriors  were 
partly  a  help  and  partly  a  hindrance.  The  same  holds 
true  of  the  priests — they  sometimes  helped  and  sometimes 
hindered.  But  we  are  the  heirs  both  of  the  nobility  and  the 
guilds.  In  our  own  day  we  stand  for  this  work  of  co-ordina- 
tion. We  are  now  the  founders  of  great  fortunes.  It  Ls  by 
us  that  city  and  country  alike  are  built  up;  it  is  through  us 
the  workmen  gain  a  living;  and  from  us  springs  that  prosper- 
ity which  finds  something  to  spare  for  the  arts  and  sciences. 
[Tumultuous  and  prolonged  enthusiasm]  As  long  as  the  greater 
part  of  the  wealth  remains  controlled  by  us,  so  long  will  all 
that  is  born  out  of  it  continue  to  be  rich  in  individuality, 
originality,  and  variety.  Every  one  consults  his  own  taste, 
and  everybody  finds  it  suited.  But  imagine  in  our  place  a 
single  authority,  be  it  that  of  community  or  state!  Only 
one  producer,  only  one  purchaser,  and,  of  course,  only  one 
taste.  And  also,  of  course,  only  one  standard  of  value. 
That  would  be  outright  Hell!    Then,  all  the  year  around, 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  195 

this  earthly  life  would  be  reduced  to  one  long  Sunday  after- 
noon of  boredom.  [Laughter]  In  the  end  the  nations  would 
then  grow  so  much  alike  that  we  could  hardly  tell  whether 
we  were  living  in  this  ant-heap  or  in  that — ^except  possibly 
by  our  manner  of  growling  at  each  other.  [Laughter]  Al- 
though I  suppose  in  the  end  that  difference  would  be  wiped 
out,  too — eh?  [Alore  laughter]  When  they  call  out  to  us 
from  the  other  side  that  the  will  of  the  majority  must  rule, 
and  that  they  are  the  majority,  then  we  reply:  the  insects  are 
also  in  a  majority.  [Cries  of  "Hear,  hear"]  If  such  a  majority 
should  come  into  power  here — by  the  ballot  or  any  other 
means — a  majority,  that  would  mean,  without  the  traditions 
of  a  ruling  class,  without  its  nobility  of  mind  and  passion 
for  beauty,  without  its  age-tested  love  of  order  in  big  things 
and  small — then,  quietly  but  firmly,  we  would  give  the  word: 
"Guns  to  the  fore!" 

The  entire  gathering  is  on  its  feet  in  a  moment,  shouting, 
applauding,  and  crowding  up  about  Holger. 
HoLGER.  And   now,   gentlemen,   the   banquet   will   begi 


ui: 


[He  turns  around  to  push  a  button;  as  he  does  so,  the  first  of 
three  guns  is  fired  outside,  while  at  the  same  moment  an  orchestra 
begins  to  play  a  lively  march  composed  especially  for  the  occa- 
sion] I'll  take  the  liberty  of  leading  the  way. 

He  steps  down  from  the  throne  and  offers  his  arm  to 
Ketil;  behind  them  the  rest  begin  to  fall  in,   two 
abreast. 
Anker.  [Appears  again  with  his  companion  midway  be- 
tween the  two  doors]  We  cannot  get  out.  [Everybody  stops  to 
listen]  We  are  even  unable  now  to  get  below  this  floor.     We 
have  tried  both  stairways. 

Holger.  Burst  open  the  doors  then! 

Anker.  We  could  tell  that  the  doors  were  fastened  with 
heavy  bars — on  the  outside. 


196  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  m 

HoLGER.  [Leaving  Ketil]  What  does  this   mean?     Where 
is  that  servant? 

Anker.  He  disappeared. 

The  delegates  begin  to  shotv  apprehension. 
Mo.  There  he  is  now. 

[Pointing  toivard  one  of  the  side  rooms. 
HoLGER.  [In  a  commanding  voice]  Come  here! 

The  Servant  approaches. 
Several.  What  does  all  this  mean?     What  is  it? 
HoLGER.  [With  a  silencing  gesture]  If  you  please!  [Takes 
the  Servant  by  the  arm  and  leads  him  down  to  the  foreground] 
Explain!     What  docs  all  this  mean? 

Many  Delegates.  [Crowding  around  the  man]  Yes,  what 
does  it  mean? 

Servant.  Let  go!  [Holger  drops  his  hold]  You  want  to 
know  what  it  means? 
Everybody.  Yes! 

The  Servant  mounts  the  dais. 
Several.  Well,  he's  going  to  make  a  speech! 
Servant.  You  want  to  know  what  it  means? 
Everybody.  Yes! 

Servant.  We  are  locked  in 

Holger.  But  the  doorkeeper,  the  servants ? 

Servant.  They  have  left. 

Holger.  Of  their  own  will?     Or  under  compulsion? 
Servant.  Both.     Those  that  wanted  to  go  took  care  that 
the  rest  did.     Now  there  is  no  one  left. 

[Panic-stricken  silence  prevails. 
Many.  But  the  police?  [They  begin  to  stir  about  uneasily] 
The  police!     Call  the  police! 

A  couple  of  delegates  lead  the  way  and  many  follow  them 
to  the  big  windows,  ivhich  are  thrown  open,  several  lean- 
ing out  to  look  for  the  police. 


ACTiu  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  197 

A  Delegate.  No  police  are  in  sight! 

Several.  We  can't  see  any.     There  are  none  outside! 

Many.  What?     Are  we  locked  in? 

[They  surge  toward  the  windows. 

Mo.  [Coming  forward  and  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice] 
Explain!     There  are  no  police  there — not  one  outside! 
The  delegates  crowd  around  the  Servant  again. 

Ketil.  Have  you  fixed  the  police  too? 

Servant.  Yes,  the  police  lines  have  been  moved  further  off. 

Holger.  Was  that  done  in  my  name? 

Servant.  It  was. 

Delegates.  [Packed  together  in  the  foreground]  That's  a 
devilish  trick!  What's  up?  What's  going  to  happen? 
We're  betrayed!     What  can  be  done? 

Mo.  [Mounting  a  chair]  Keep  quiet,  everybody!  [To  the 
Servant]  What's  going  to  happen?  [All  stop  talJcing,  with 
the  result  that  the  lively  strain  of  the  inarch  is  heard  the  better] 
Can't  anybody  stop  that  foolish  music? 

Several.  Stop  the  music! 

Everybody.  Stop  the  music! 

Blom.  [Leans  out  of  the  window,  shouting]  The  music  must 
stop!     Stop  it! 

Everybody  listens  expectantly,  but  the  music  continues 
icith  undiminished  vigour. 

Mo.  [Desperately]  Can't  anybody  make  it  stop? 

Holger.  You'll  have  to  send  somebody  up  to  the  roof — 
that's  where  the  orchestra  is. 

Ketil.  It  has  been  done  already. 

New  pause,  during  which  the  music  goes  on  as  before. 

Mo.  It  goes  right  on !    For  Heaven's  sake,  go,  some  of  you! 
Three  or  four  delegates  rush  out. 

Servant.  [To  Blom,  who  has  come  forward  again]  And 
such  poor  music  at  that! 


198  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  m 

Blom.  No,  I  don't  think  so!  I  don't  tliink  so.  But  the 
whole  thing  is  dreadful.  [The  music  stops. 

Mo.  At  last! 

Several.  [With  evident  relief]  That's  better! 

Mo.  [To  the  Servant]  Will  you  tell  us  now:  what  does  it 
mean?  [.I  breathless  pause  ensues. 

Servant.  You  have  been  summoned  hence. 
The  same  deep  silence  prevails  again. 

Mo.  [After  a  long  ichile,  almost  in  a  ivhisper]  By  whom.' 

Servant.  By  Maren  Haug — the  woman  we  buried  yester- 
day.    She  wants  you  to  join  her.  [Deep  silence  again. 

Mo.  [All  the  time  remaining  on  the  chair]  What — what  does 
that  mean.' 

Servant.  WTien  this  place  was  built,  electric  wires  were 
laid  from  the  rooms  down  to  the  old  mining  gallery  that 
runs  right  beneath  us.  That  gallery  has  been  cleared,  and 
during  the  last  few  nights  it  has  been  loaded. 

[Silence  as  before. 

Holder.  [Who  so  far  hasnt  made  a  movement]  Who's  in 
charge  of  the  job? 

Servant.  The  man  who  laid  the  wires. 

HoLGER.  Is  he  here  now? 

Servant.  No,  he  has  more  to  do  afterward. 

Mo.  [Bursting  out]  Who  are  you? 

Servant.  What  does  it  matter?  I  am  not  lookinj^  for 
immortality. 

Mo.  Kill  the  fellow!  [Leaps  from  the  chair. 

Many.  [Trying  to  get  at  the  Servant]  You  scoundrel! 
Assassin ! 

Holger.  [Stepping  in  between]  No,  no!  Wail!  Wait.  I 
tell  you!  [When  comparative  quiet  has  been  restored]  I  want 
to  speak  to  this  man  alone.  [To  the  Servant]  Will  you  come 
<I()\vn  here  and  let  nie  talk  with  vou? 


ACTin  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  199 

Servant.  [After  a  glance  at  his  watch]  You'll  have  to  be 
brief. 

He  steps  down  arid  goes  to  Holger;  hath  come  further 
down  the  stage,  Holger  motioning  those  around  them 
to  witMraw. 

Holger.  What  do  you  want  for  letting  us  out?  Go  as 
high  as  you  like.  Ask  any  guarantee  you  choose.  How  do 
you  want  the  money  paid  out? — You  can  leave  here  on  a 
special  steamer  this  very  evening. — Why  don't  you  answer? 

Servant.  {Goes  over  to  the  throne  and  mounts  the  -platform 
on  iL'hich  it  stands]  Now  I  am  master  here!  It's  under  my 
command  you'll  have  to  make  this  trip!  And  you'd  better 
hold  fast  when  it  begins  to  roll. 

General  alarm  and  whispering  among  the  delegates. 

Ketil.  a  question  to  our  master — if  it  so  please  him? 

Servant.  [With  his  ivatch  in  his  hand]  Yes — but  quick. 

Ketil.  What's  the  good  of  all  this? 

Servant.  Of  the — ascension? 

Ketil.  Yes.     What's  the  use  of  it? 

Servant.  Advertising. 

Several.  [Repeating  in  irhispers]  Advertising? 

Ketil.  I  dare  say  this  advertisement  will  cost  you  a  lot 
more  than  us. 

Servant.  Oh,  others  will  follow.  It's  the  numbers  that 
will  do  it.  Like  so  many  shining  stars  you're  going  to  pro- 
claim our  cause!  And  I  hope  you  appreciate  the  undeserved 
honour  of  your  glorious  ending! 

Holger.  And  now's  the  time? 

Servant.  Now  is  the  time.  Most  noble  fellow  stars — at- 
tention! [He  starts  toward  the  rear. 

Holger.  Well,  you'll  give  no  signal! 

He  pulls  out  a  revolver  and  fires  four  shots  in  quick  suc- 
cession at  the  Servant. 


200  BEYOxND   HUMAN   MIGHT  actih 

Sekvant.  [As  the  shots  ring  out,  takes  a  fete  steps  bachrard, 
putting  hiji  fuind  first  to  his  heart,  and  then  to  his  abdomen;  at 
last  he  clasps  his  head  with  both  hands]  That's  good! 

He  reels  forward  and  falls  at  th^fcet  of  Holger,  uho  has 
been  folloiring  him.  All  rush  forward  to  have  a  look 
at  the  prostrate  body.  Some  mount  the  speaker  s  dais, 
others  climb  up  on  the  throne,  while  others  gel  up  on 
chairs  to  look  over  the  heads  of  those  in  front  of  them. 
At  that  moment  tlie  Max  ix  Brown  appears  suddenly 
beside  tJic  body. 
Man  in  Brown.  Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! 

He  crouches  doum  and  slaps  his  knees  as  lie  Iiops  around 

like  a  bird;  then  he  runs  like  a  flash  toward  the  right, 

while  Holger  fires  two  shots  after  him.  ^ 

Mo.  [In  utter  panic]  Are  there  others.' 

Everybody.  There  are  others!     There  are  others!    What 

will  happen  now.'  [They  run  around  aimlessly. 

Mo.  [Who  has  been  running  toward  the  windows]  Ssh!    Ssh! 

A  Delegate.  What  is  it? 

Mo.  Ssh,  ssh!     I  think  some  one  is  calling  outsick 

He  leans  out  of  one  of  the  windows,  all  of  ivhich  are  open. 
Many.  [Eagerly]  Is  there  anybody  to  help  us.' 

[They  rush  wildly  toumrd  the  windows. 
Mo.  Ssh,  I  tell  you !     It's  a  woman.     She's  standing  on  the 
other  side  of  the  moat.     Listen !     Can't  you  see  her.? 
A  Delegate.  She's  signalling  to  us. 

Mo.  Keep  quiet  now!  [Silence. 

A  Woman's  Voice.  [Though     barely     lieard,     its     horror- 
stricken  tone  can  be  distinguished]  Come  out  of  there!     They 
have  mined  the  ground  under  the  Castle! 
Servant.  Rachel! 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  201 

HoLGER.  [Still  standing  beside  him,  says  in  a  low  voice]  Is 
he  alive? 

Several.  [Calling  out]  We  can't  get  out! 

Mo.  One  at  a  time.  [Shouting]  We  can't  get  out!  Send 
somebody  to  open  for  us! 

Many.  Send  somebody  to  open  for  us! 

Most  of  those  that  have  remained  behind  hurry  to  the 
windoivs  to  get  a  look. 

Mo.  Ssh!     Keep  quiet.  [Sile7ice. 

Woman's  Voice.  Nobody  can  get  there!  The  draw- 
bridge is  raised ! 

Servant.  Rachel. 

HoLGER.  [Who  has  remained  immovable,  says  almost  in  a 
tohisper]  Can  he  be  her  brother.^ 

Delegates.  [Sweeping  backward  jrom  the  windows  again  and 
talking  all  together]  The  drawbridge  is  raised!  We're  locked 
in  and  trapped!  What  can  be  done?  Are  there  no  ropes 
to  slide  down — no  ladders? 

A  Delegate.  [Shouting  above  the  din]  Are  there  no  ropes 
we  can  slide  down  on  to  get  hold  of  ladders? 

Holger.  I  am  afraid  not.     Everything  is  new  here. 

Mo.  Why  in  the  world  did  you  bring  us  here? 

A  Delegate.  It's  a  murder-trap,  that's  what  it  is! 

Several.  You  shouldn't  have  brought  us  here!  It's  your 
fault! 

Many.  If  anything  happens  to  us,  it's  your  fault! 

Mo.  Your  boundless  vanity  and  arrogance  are  to  blame 
for  this! 

Almost  Everybody.  It's  dreadful!  It's  up  to  you  to  get 
us  out !  You  saw  last  year  that  the  place  was  dangerous !  We 
relied  on  you!     Why  don't  you  do  something? 

Holger.  [Calmly]  Gentlemen,  try  to  be  a  little  more  calm! 
Bear  in   mind  that  the  explosion  cannot  wreck  the  whole 


•■ZO^  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  m 

castle.     And  bear  in  mind,  too,  that  the  man  who  was  to  give 
the  signal  is  lying  here. 

At  these  icords  tfie  Servant  makes  an  effort  to  raise  him- 
self. 
A  Delegate.  [Shouts]  He's  alive! 
Several.  Is  he  alive? 

Again  the  crowd  closes  around  the  Servant,  wJio  is 
barely  able  to  raise  his  head. 
A  Delegate.  Ssh!    He's  trying  to  say  something! 
Servant.  I — I  am  not  alone.  [He  sinks  back  again. 

Another  Delegate.  [In  a  lohisper]  ^\^lere  are  the  others? 
Several.  [In  low  tones]  Where  are   the  others?     ^Miere 
do  you  think  the  explosion  will  take  place? 
A  Delegate.  Right  here,  of  course! 
Other  Delegates.  Yes,  of  course,  right  here! 
Many.  Right  here!     Of  course,  it  must  be  right  here! 
Mo.  [Bursting  into  itild  laughter]  Why  didn't  I  think  of 
that  before?     Ha-ha-ha-ha! 

He  runs  to  one  of  the  windows  and  flings  himself  out 
before  anybody  has  time  to  stop  him. 
Several.  [Run  to  the  windows,  but  draw)  back  in  horror] 
Killed!     Smashed  against  the  stone  pavement! 

They  repeat  this  to  others,  who  didnt  hear  at  first. 
Others.  Horrible!     What's  to  become  of  us? 

Another    delegate    vmnts   to   throw   himself  out  of  the 
ivindoio,  and  wfien  the  rest  try  to  stop  him  a  fight 
ensues. 
Holger.  [In   commanding   tones]  Take   care!     Despair   is 
contagious! 

Several.  [To  the  rest]  Yes,  it's  contagious!     You'd  better 
take  care! 

Holger.  Whv  don't  vou  trv  to  meet  the  inevitable  with 


ACT  III  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  203 

dignity?  All  of  us  have  to  meet  death  once.  And  our  death 
will  do  more  for  order  in  this  country  than  any  one  of  us 
could  achieve  in  the  longest  of  lifetimes.  For  you  may  be 
sure  that  the  power  will  never  pass  into  the  hands  of  people 
who  resort  to  such  methods.  Remember  that!  And  let  us 
die  happy  for  that  reason!  Our  death  will  fill  our  fellow  citi- 
zens with  just  that  resentment  and  courage  which  alone  can 
save  our  country  now.  Long  live  our  country! 
All.  Long  live  our  country! 

Quiet  has  barely  returned,  when  the  frightful  laughter  of 
the  Man  in  Brown  is  heard  from  the  right. 
A  Delegate.  Oh,  it's  him,  of  course! 

[Runs  in  the  direction  of  the  laughter. 
Several.  Yes,  it  must  be  him.  [Run  out. 

Many.  It's  him!     Catch  him!  [Runout, 

All.  It's  him!     Catch  him!     Kill  him! 

All  except  Holger,  Anker,  and  Ketil  rush  out  wildly, 
Blom  ivalking  out  after  the  rest. 
Ketil.  [To  Holger]  They  don't  know  what  they  are  doing 
any  longer. 

Holger.  [Who  has  been  following  the  wild  rout  with  his  eyes] 
Yes,  they  are  trying  to  run  away  from  it — of  course! 

Anker.  [Gently]  Friends,  there  is  nothing  left  for  us  now 
but  to  trust  in  the  mercy  of  God. 

Ketil.  Well,  go  ahead,  old  chap!     As  for  me,  I  am  an  old 
sailor  and  have  looked  death  in  the  eye  before. 

Anker  kneels  down  at  the  left  and  begins  to  pray. 
Holger.  [Walks  back  and  forth;  as  he  passes  the  body  of  the 
Servant  he  says]  He's  dead  now,  that  fellow. 

[All  three  keep  silent  for  a  while. 
Ketil.  There  isn't  any  way  out  of  this? 
Holger.  [Absently  and  without  stopping]  None  at  all. 


204  BEYOND  HUMAN   MIGHT  actiii 

Ketil.  No,  I  thought  so — not  when  a  massive  thing  like 
this  begins  to  go —  Well,  now  I'll  sit  down  here  and  not 
make  another  move — come  what  may! 

Anker.  [Turning  his  head  toward  Ketil]  But  don't  put  on 
airs  about  it.  Dear  friend — why  don't  you  come  and  pray 
for  your  soul  instead? 

Ketil.  Not  much  use,  I  fear.  I  guess  the  soul  is  what  it  is. 
It  can't  change  as  quick  as  all  that.  And  if  anybody  should 
be  waiting  for  it  on  the  other  side — well,  I  imagine  he  won't 
let  himself  be  fooled  by  what  little  I  could  say  now. 

The  laughter  of  the  Max  in  Brown  w  h.eard  right  above 
them,  followed  immediately  by  tlie  cries  and  clatter  of 
his  pursuers. 
HoLGER.  [Stops  and  listens  for  a  while;  tfien  fie  goes  slowly 

up  to  Ketil]  And  for  the  sake  of  that  pack  of  cowards ! 

Ketil.  Yes,  they  are  not  much  good. 

HoLGER.  I  have  known  it  all  the  time.  But  as  long  as 
they  would  take  orders — eh.' 

Ketil.  Yes— they  were  good  for  that — very  good.     But  let 

them  only  get  scared 

HoLGER.  Then  they  run  like  dogs  from  a  whipping.  I  can 
see  that  now. 

Ketil.  Yes,  we  need  better  stuff  than  that. 
Holger.  [Ajter  a  while]  I  should  have  liked  to  live  a  little 
longer ! 

Anker.  [Turning  his  face  toward  the  other  two]  Let  us  pray 
for  our  children!  It'll  be  so  hard  on  them  to  begin  with.  Let 
us  pray  that  God  may  console  them,  and  that  there  may  not 
be  so  much  evil  in  their  time  as  there  has  been  in  ours.  Let  us 
pray  for  that ! 

The  laughter  is  now  heard  from  the  left,  not  far  off;  then 
tfic  yelling  and  shouting  of  the  pursuing  croicd,  coming 


ACT  III  BEYOND  HUMAN   MIGHT  205 

nearer  and  nearer,  until  the  tvhole  pack  bursts  into  the 
hall,  crossing  it  from  left  to  right.     Blom  walks  after 
the  rest. 
HoLGEE.  [Who  follows  the  crowd  with  his  eyes  as  long  as  any- 
body remains  in  sight]  One  mob  or  the  other 

Ketil.  No — strong  men,  that's  what  we  need. 
HoLGER.  One  will  be  enough.     And  he'll  come! 
Anker.  Hurry  up  now  and  pray  with  me — ^pray  God  to 
help  the  righteous  so  that  they  may  bring  light  and  peace  to 

those  who  are  suffering.     God  save  our  country!     God 

A  deep  rumbling  noise  is  heard;  then  wild  human  cries 
quickly  cut  off.  Ketil,  with  the  chair  on  which  he  sits, 
is  lifted  from  the  floor  and  disappears.  Holger  falls 
and  disappears  also.  Clouds  of  dust  envelop  every- 
thing in  an  obscuring  mist.  Anker  remains  barely 
visible  for  a  while  longer — it  looks  as  if  he  were  passing 
right  through  the  wall.  But  to  the  very  last  his  voice 
can  be  heard. 
Anker.  God  save  our  country !     God  save 

Curtain. 


ACT  IV 

Under  the  trees  of  a  big  park.  Wooden  scats  arc  built  around 
some  of  the  trunks.  Faint  strains  of  gently  melanchobj 
music  are  heard  before  the  curtain  rises  and  continue  to  be 
heard  through  the  act — a  distant  chorus,  as  it  were. 

Rachel  enters  slowly,  followed  by  Halden.  During  the  en- 
suing scene  Rachel  remains  standing  or  walking  around. 
Halden  leans  against  a  tree  most  of  the  time,  but  now  and 
then  he  sits  down  for  a  feio  moments. 

Rachel.  Thank  you!  [She  looks  around]  How  fortunate  it 
is  that  I  have  this  park.  Within  doors  the  sorrow  breaks  nie 
down — I  have  had  a  bad  night.  Out  here  I  can  stand  up 
under  it.  These  walks,  with  nothing  but  the  sky  above,  and 
the  spring  weather— oh,  it  feels  good! 

Halden.  There  is  consolation  in  nature. 

Rachel.  [Looking  at  him]  Yes,  but  nature  does  not  try  to 
rob  us  of  our  sorrow,  as  do  liuman  beings.  It  only  lets  us 
feel  its  own  imperishable  iK)wer,  and  reminds  us  of  what 
lives  on.  [Softly,  as  if  to  herself]  Lives  on. 

Halden.  That's  just  the  point  at  issue.  Your  sorrow  must 
become  absorbed  in  that  which  points  ahead. 

Rachel.  It's  what  my  sorrow  cannot  do.  And  I  don't 
want  it  to. — Please  don't  get  impatient :  don't  you  see  that  I 
am  winning  him  back  to  myself  through  my  sorrow.'  I 
couldn't  keep  up  with  him  while  he  was  alive — and  so  I  let 
him  get  away  from  me  that  last  evening  because  I  didn't 
206 


ACT  IV  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  207 

understand  him.  He  was  a  man  of  faith  who  preached  no 
creed  except  that  embodied  in  his  own  deeds.  Faith  is  action. 
But  one  without  faith  finds  it  so  hard  to  understand  him  wlio 
has  it.  And  so  I  let  him  get  away  from  me.  It's  something 
I  can  never  forgive  myself,  something  I  shall  never  cease  to 
regret.  It  stabs  and  claws  at  my  flesh;  it  fills  the  air  around 
me  with  sobs  and  screams.  Sometimes  I  seem  to  share  his 
agony  where  he  lies  buried  in  the  ruins;  at  other  times  I  am 
passmg  by  his  side  through  a  hail-storm  of  curses  poured 
upon  him  by  hundreds  of  thousands  ranged  in  endless  rows. 
— And  it  is  not  him  they  hit.  He  knew  in  advance  that  very 
few  could  grasp  what  he  was  doing.  It  only  made  his  man- 
date more  compelling.  In  that  way  only  could  his  action 
rise  to  sacrifice.  So  great  was  his  pride  toward  his  fellow 
men;  so  great  his  humilitj'  toward  the  cause  he  served.  I 
feel  certain  that  he  scorned  to  explain  himself  even  to  those 
he  had  to  lead  into  death.  He  was  too  modest  to  do  so. — • 
No  lash  or  blow  can  reach  to  him — but  me — to  me  they  reach. 
How  could  I  be  so  mistaken.^  How  could  my  love  for  him  so 
fail  to  sharpen  my  perception? 

Halden.  What  is  to  become  of  you?     You  must  resist. 

Rachel.  What  is  to  become  of  me?  If  I  can  sleep  at 
night,  my  suffering  begins  anew  in  the  morning,  and  if  I  can- 
not sleep — then  I  shall  die.  Nor  can  I  weep!  The  tears  are 
there — yet  I  cannot  weep.  But  I  like  it  better  so,  for  thus  I 
win  him  back  to  me  again. 

Halden.  If  he  were  alive,  he  would  say:  "Don't  waste 
any  sorrow  on  me,  but  give  it  to " 

Rachel.  [Interrupting]  So  he  would!  He  was  like  that! 
I  thank  you  for  those  words!  As  he  lived,  so  he  died — for 
others!  But  /  can  find  no  place  for  all  those  others.  Al- 
though now  the  fate  of  those  he  died  for  is  worse  than  ever, 
I  can  find  no  place  for  them — I  have  no  place  for  any  one  but 


208  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  iv 

him. — Oh,  when  I  think  of  the  man  who  hired  him  on  to 
this. — It  has  been  written  tliat  wlioso  shall  offend  one  of  the 
little  ones,  it  were  better  for  him  that  a  millstone  were 
hanged  about  his  neck  and  that  he  were  drowned  in  the  depth 
of  the  sea.  But  what  of  him  who  leads  astray  the  yearning 
of  another  man  for  noble  deeds — what  should  be  done  to 
him? 

Halden.  Oh,  I  suppose  both  of  tliem  meant  to  do  good,  to 
save  somebody  else  by  their  deed 

Rachel.  [Interrupting  again]  The  idea  that  anybody  could 
be  saved  m  such  a  way !  By  first  being  made  cruel  enough  to 
desire  other  people's  destruction!  What  are  people  to  be 
saved  from?  Or  if  evil  is  to  be  suppressed  by  the  sowing 
of  still  more  evil,  how  can  goodness  get  a  chance  to  grow? 

Halden.  Suppose  what  has  happened  should  arouse  the 
conscience  of  the  people? 

Rachel.  Why,  that's  what  he  was  saying — his  very  words, 
I  think —  Arouse  tlie  conscience  of  the  people?  After  all 
these  thousands  of  years  that  we  have  been  subject  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  family  and  of  religion,  can  it  be  possible  that  we 
are  unable  to  arouse  people's  conscience  except  by —  O  ye 
silent  and  exalted  witnesses,  who  hear  without  answering  and 
see  without  reflecting  what  you  see,  why  don't  you  show  me 
how  to  reach  the  upward  road?  For  in  the  midst  of  all  this 
misery  there  is  no  road  that  leads  upward — nothing  but  an 
endless  circling  around  the  same  spot,  by  which  I  perish! 

Halden.  Upward  means  forward. 

Rachel.  But  there  is  no  forward  in  this!  We  have  been 
thrown  back  into  sheer  barbarism!  Once  more  all  faith  in  a 
happy  future  has  been  wipetl  out.  Just  ask  a  few  questions 
around  here!  The  worst  feature  of  such  a  mad  outburst  of 
evil  is  not  the  death  of  some  or  the  sorrow  of  others:  it  is  that 
all  courage  is  frightened  out  of  tlie  worhl.    Mercy  has  fled. 


ACT  IV  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  209 

and  all  are  crying  for  vengeance.  Justice,  kindness,  forbear- 
ance, all  our  angels  of  light  have  fled  away.  The  air  is  filled 
with  fragments  of  mutilated  corpses,  and  armed  men  are 
springing  out  of  the  ground.  All  others  are  in  hiding — I  can't 
dress  a  patient's  wound  without  having  to  remember — I 
cannot  hear  a  moan  without  getting  sick  at  heart.  And  then 
the  knowledge  that  no  matter  what  I  do,  it  won't  help — it 
won't  help! 

Halden.  No,  it  won't  help !     That's  what  tormented  him. 

Rachel.  And  was  that  a  reason  for  scattering  his  torment 
broadcast  over  all  of  us.'*  For  robbing  everybody  of  what 
courage  they  had.^  Could  it  be  possible  to  inflict  a  worse 
wound  on  mankind?  Wliat  is  death  itself  compared  with  a 
life  without  the  courage  to  live  it.^  When  I  look  at  that  one 
man  who  was  saved — when  I  see  him  in  his  chair,  lame 
and  wordless — he  who  possessed  limitless  courage — and  when 
I  see  the  workmen  follow  him  around  begging  for  mercy — 
those  men  who  once  thought  they  could  crush  him — !  And 
then  the  sun,  the  spring — ever  since  that  dreadful  night — 
nothing  but  fine  weather,  night  and  day — a  stretch  of  it  the 
like  of  which  I  cannot  recall.  Is  it  not  as  if  nature  itself  were 
crying  out  to  us:  "Shame!  Shame!  You  sprinkle  my  leaves 
with  blood,  and  mingle  death-cries  with  my  song.  You 
darken  the  air  for  me  with  your  gruesome  complaints." 
That's  what  it  is  saying  to  us.  "You  are  soiling  the  spring 
for  me.  Your  diseases  and  your  evil  thoughts  are  crouching 
in  the  woods  and  on  the  greenswards.  Everywhere  a  stink 
of  misery  is  following  you  like  that  of  rotting  waters." 
That's  what  it  is  telling  us.  "Your  greed  and  your  envy  are 
a  pair  of  sisters  who  have  fought  each  other  since  they  were 
born" — that's  what  it  says.  "Only  my  highest  mountain 
peaks,  only  my  sandy  wastes  and  icy  deserts,  have  not  seen 
those  sisters;  but  every  other  part  of  the  earth  has  been  filled 


210  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  iv 

by  them  with  blood  and  brutal  bawling.  In  the  midst  of 
eternal  glory  mankind  has  invented  Hell  and  manages  to  keep 
it  filled.  And  men,  who  should  stand  for  perfection,  harbour 
among  them  what  is  worthless  and  foul." — At  last  I  have 
found  a  voice!  Until  now  I  have  done  nothing  but  listen, 
and  help,  and  have  kept  silent,  and  fled  from  everything. — 
But  I  knew  that  out  here  my  sorrow  would  find  words. 

Halden.  It  must  be  great  indeed  to  make  you  so  unjust. 

Rachel.  But  it  is  relief  nevertheless — almost  like  crying. 
— But  you  are  right:  sorrow  is  an  egoist.  Others  do  not  exist, 
or  they  are  only  in  the  way.     I  am  abusing  your  kindness. 

Halden.  Don't  talk  like  that! 

Rachel.  But  in  those  few  words  of  yours  there  was  some- 
thing that — that —  Oh,  I  hate  those  calculations  on  a  large 
scale.  They  overlook  what  is  human,  although  in  this  alone 
salvation  lies.  I  fear  whatever  is  inhuman. ^ — Isn't  it  horrible 
to  think  of?  With  me  Elias  had  already  suffered  all  a  man 
can  stand  of  the  inhumanity  of  the  miracle.  And  on  top 
of  it  he  must  needs  fall  victim  to  the  inhumanity  of 
theories — !  Now^  I  am  coming  to  see  how  it  happened.  It 
is  not  enough  to  say  that  somebody  made  a  wrong  use  of  his 
passion  for  self-sacrifice.  That  would  not  be  enough  to 
explain  such  a  choice  on  his  part.  No,  something  more  was 
needed.  They  got  hold  of  his  worship  for  everything  of 
supernatural  dimensions.  He  was  like  his  father:  both  had 
a  childish  fondness  for  that  kind  of  thing.  The  dreams  of 
idlers  had  in  him  become  a  religion.  He  could  not  perceive 
the  salvation  that  lies  in  furnishing  peace  and  light  for  the 
toil  of  the  millions.  He  could  see  it  only  in  great  characters, 
in  commanding  wills,  in  monstrous  happenings.  That's  why 
he  gave  away  his  big  fortune  as  he  did — to  die  the  death  of 
a  Samson!  That's  why  he  did  it  all  secretly,  silently.  That 
seemed  to  him  the  noblest  way  of  all. — Yes,  they  must  have 


ACT  IV  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  211 

filled  his  imagination  with  the  idea  of  something  surpassing 
all  that  had  been  counted  greatest  before.  Thus  it  was 
carried  beyond  what  is  human.  There  were  no  boundaries 
to  be  crossed  in  such  a  case.  Some  one  must  have  observed 
how  easily  the  passion  for  the  superhuman  can  be  led  astray, 
and  then  made  use  of  this  fact.  It  was  like  handing  a  razor 
to  a  child  with  the  words:  "Put  it  in  your  mouth." 

Halden.  But  it  cannot  possibly  have  happened  like  that. 

Rachel.  I  am  not  condemning  anybody.  What  right  has 
the  sister  of  Elias  Sang  to  condemn  anybody.''  But  tell  me, 
Mr.  Halden:  when  goodness  uses  dynamite,  what  is  then  to 
be  called  good,  and  what  evil?  The  greatest  thing  about 
goodness  is  that  it  creates.  Out  of  its  own  it  adds  joy,  and 
perhaps  strength  as  well,  to  other  wills.  But  how  can  it  take 
away  life.''  What  a  horrible  fate  Elias  had  to  meet:  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  such  a  monster! — I  was  standing  on  the 
ramparts  when  that  enormous  structure  blew  up.  I  was 
standing  beside  Bratt.  We  were  thrown  to  the  ground,  and 
when  he  got  up  again  his  reason  was  gone.  If  I  hadn't  had 
him  to  care  for  at  once,  the  same  thing  would  have  hap- 
pened to  me.  Do  you  think  Elias  could  have  done  it  if  he 
had  caught  sight  of  us  two  standing  there.'' — His  face  that 
last  evening,  as  he  was  leaving  me,  was  like  a  cry  of  distress ! 
Now  I  understand  why.  Can  you  imagine  anything  more 
cruel  than  a  power  within  ourselves  that  goads  us  on  to  that 
which  our  whole  nature  resists?  How  can  happiness  be  possi- 
ble on  this  earth  until  our  reasoning  faculties  become  so  spon- 
taneous that  no  one  can  use  us  like  that? — Oh,  the  pain  within 
me! — Oh,  that  I  could  weep  myself  free  from  it! — If  he  were 
here,  that  man  who  has  done  all  this — if  he  could  hear  how  I 
am  crying  out  lest  my  sorrow  choke  me — do  you  think  that 
through  my  wail  he  would  hear  the  wailing  of  thousands  of 
others? — But  were  he  standing  here — I  shouldn't  speak  a 


212  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  iv 

harsh  word  to  him.  All  human  beings  live  as  if  surrounded 
by  a  cloud  of  smoke.  They  do  not  see.  We  are  brought  up 
to  be  what  we  are. — Oh,  I  am  not  accusing  anybody.  But 
God,  whom  we  are  to  understand  better  the  further  we 
proceed — there  is  something  in  the  brightness  of  this  day,  in 
its  everlasting  wholesomeness  and  beauty,  that  tells  me — 
God  must  be  present  in  all  that  we  suffer  from  what  is  un- 
natural, irrational,  and  inhuman.  The  more  numerous  and 
frequent  and  loud  our  complaints  become,  the  more  deeply 
will  God  make  himself  felt. — Thus,  brother,  you  have  also 
been  of  service  in  your  death.  Not  as  that  man  of  dread 
made  you  believe — but  by  calling  forth  suffering  and  opening 
the  gates  of  sorrow.  No  circumstance  is  wholly  our  own  until 
touched  by  sorrow;  no  ideal  until  sorrow  has  breathed  upon 
it;  no  insight  until  the  eyes  of  sorrow  have  met  ours.  Our 
mind  is  like  a  room  full  of  visitors  until  sorrow  steps  across  the 
threshold,  be  it  with  harsh  or  gentle  tread — then  the  room 
becomes  our  own;  then  we  are  left  by  ourselves!— O  Elias, 
Elias,  only  now  do  I  understand  you  as  you  deserved  to  be 
understood!  From  now  on  I  shall  never  leave  you  again — 
nor  that  for  which  you  died.  Our  sufferings  shall  purge  it; 
our  tears  shall  glimmer  through  it  like  flames  and  render  it 
sacred  to  thousands. — My  wishes  outstrip  my  powers.  My 
strength  is  gone.  Once  more  I  am  thrust  back  into  impo- 
tence. Even  sorrow  demands  strength. 
Halden.  There  they  are  bringing  Holger. 
Rachel.  [Going  toward  the  left  to  mcd  him]  Poor  feiK)\v,  he 
has  had  his  morning  tour. 

Haldkx  places  himself  at  the  left  so  that  he  cannot  be  seen 
by  IIoixJEU,  who  is  carried  by  servants  in  a  comfort- 
able and  luxurious  armchair.  Other  servants  follow 
behind.  Holger's  head  i^  wrapped  in  bandages;  his 
right  hand  is  paralysed. 


ACT  IV  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  213 

Rachel.  [Holding  Holger's  left  ha7id]  He  wants  to  rest 
awhile  here. 

The  Servants  put  down  the  chair. 

HoLGER.  [Who  has  tried  to  raise  his  right  hand]  I  am  always 
forgetting  that  my  right  hand  is  useless.  I  wanted  to  make 
the  servants 

Rachel.  [After  bending  over  him,  to  the  Servants]  Please 
step  aside  a  little. 

The  Servants  leave. 

HoLGER.  [In  a  low  voice]  I  have  something  to  say  to  you. 

Rachel.  What  is  it,  dear  friend? 

HoLGER.  \Vlien  they  had  dug  me  out — and  it  was  found 
that  I  was  the  only  survivor,  you  asked — to  be  allowed  to 
nurse  me. 

Rachel.  Yes. 

HoLGER.  And  so — I  couldn't  help  being  brought  here — and 
became  your  first  patient  in  the  house  and  the  park  I  had 
just  handed  over  to  you. 

Rachel.  [On  her  knees  beside  him]  Does  it  trouble  you,  dear 
friend?     Is  it  troubling  you  in  any  Way? 

HoLGER.  No — but — I  have  been  too  ill  to  tell  you 

Rachel.  What?  [Long  silence. 

HoLGER.  Has  your  brother's  body  been  found? 

Rachel.  Yes — dreadfully  mangled 

HoLGER.  Nothing  to  show,  then — how  he  died ? 

Rachel.  [With  sharpened  attention]  Didn't  he  die  in  the 
same  way  as  the  rest? 

HoLGER.  He  spoke  to  us — told  us  a  signal  would  be  sent 
to  the  galleries  below — and  then  he  was  shot  down 

Rachel.  [Drawing  back]  He  was  shot  down ? 

HoLGER.  I  didn't  know  him. 

Rachel.  [Rising  icith  a  quick  movement]  You  shot  him? 

HoLGER,  I  didn't  know  him.     I  wasn't  aware — that  he 


214  BEYOND  HUMAN   MIGHT  act  iv 

was  your  brother.     But  I  am  afraid — had  I  known  him — I 
should  have  shot  him  just  the  same. 

Rachel.  [In  a  whisper]  Oh,  it's  horrible,  horriWe! 
HoLGEU.  He  died  splendidly. — Just  after  he  had  lieen  hit 
he  said:  "That's  good!" 

Rachel.  Oh,  how  he  must  have  been  suffering ! 

HoLGER.  He  heard  your  voice  outside.  And  so  he  spoke 
your  name —  You  called  to  us  twice,  and  both  times  he 
spoke  your  name. 

Rachel.  Elias,  Elias ! 

HoLGER.  Are  you  going  to  cast  me  oflf.^ 
Rachel.  [Thrmcing  Jierself  on  her  knees  beside  him]  No,  no! 
[^4;  that  moment  she  bursts  into  tears]  Oh,  now  I  can  cry — now 
I  can  cry !  And  I  say  as  he  did :  that's  good !  [She  is  shaken 
by  sobs;  finally  she  rises  to  her  feet  again]  Elias,  Elias,  you  kept 
your  own  pain  hidden  from  mc — but  now  you  have  relieved 
me  of  mine!  [She  breaks  into  sobs  again. 

HoLGER.  Come — come  and  take  me  away. 

The  Servants  hurry  up  to  him  and  carry  him  out  to  the 

right,  moving  very  slowly. 
Hans  Braa  and  Aspelund  enter  from  the  left  and  follow 
after  Holger.     They  are  seen  exchanging  a  few  xi-ords 
with  each  other  while  crossing  tlu;  stage. 
Rachel.  [Without  noticing  tlie  worlcmen]  So  he  spoke  my 

name!     I  don't  understand — but  since  I  learned  that 

[She  begins  to  weep  again;  sits  doum. 
Halden  comes  forioard.     For  a  moment  he  stands  look- 
ing doum  at  her.     Then  lie  kneels  solemnly  before  her 
and  raises  both  arms  toward  heaven  until  both  his 
hands  meet  palm  to  palm. 
Rachel  doesnt  notice  him  at  once;  but  when  she  does  so 
she  turns  instinctively  away. 
Halden.  You  were  right. 


ACT  IV  BEYOND   HUMAN  MIGHT  215 

Rachel.  [Almost  inaudibly]  In  what ? 

Haldex.  And  I  yield  to  you. 

Rachel.  [Still  in  a  low  voice]  ^Vliat  do  you  mean? 

Halden.  More  than  you  thmk. 

[He  rises  to  his  feet  and  stands  very  erect. 
Rachel  looks  fiard  at  him.     Just  then  Bratt's  voice 

is  heard  and  he  becomes  visible  in  the  background. 
Halden  makes  a  deprecatory  gesture  with  one  hand  and 
goes  out  to  the  left. 

Bratt.  [As  if  speaking  to  somebody  walking  beside  him] 
So-o! — Really,  you  think  so? — Well,  indeed! 

Rachel.  [Following  Halden  icith  her  eyes]  There  was 
something — But  I  can't  make  out  the  rest. — Oh,  is  that  you, 
Bratt? 

Bratt.  [Looking  ill  and  speaking  in  a  low,  dragging  voice] 
Yes — and  Mr.  Lasalle.  May  I  introduce:  Miss  Sang — Mr. 
Lasalle.  [He  hows  first  to  one  side,  then  to  the  other. 

Rachel.  But  you  have  introduced  him  to  me  so  many 
times. 

Bratt.  Perhaps  I  have.  But  it  wasn't  you  I  had  in  mind. 
It  was  Mr.  Holger,  Junior.  Was  it  not  he  that  stood  here  a 
moment  ago? 

Rachel.  Holger,  Junior? 

Bratt.  Yes,  that  fellow  with  the  electric  wires. 

Rachel.  [Leaping  to  her  feet;  in  a  whisper]  WTiat  are  you 
saying ? 

Bratt.  [Stepping  back]  You  frighten  me. 

Rachel.  Who  was  it  that  stood  here,  you  say? 

Bratt.  That  stood — that  stood ? 

Rachel.  That  stood  here — who  was  it? 

Bratt.  Well — ?  Yes,  who  was  it?  There  are  times 
when  I  can't • 


216  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  act  iv 

Rachel.  [Going  closer,  but  speaking  very  gently]  \Mio  was  it 
that  was  standing  here? 

Br  ATT.  Will  you  permit  me  to  ask  Mr.  Lasalle? 

Rachel.  Yes,  do! 

Bratt.  [Bowing  slightly  toward  the  right]  Pardon  me,  Mr. 
Lasalle,  but  who  was  it — who  was  it  first  started  the  work  on 
the  ruins? 

Rachel.  Oh— I  see!  [She  siLs  down. 

Bratt.  [Xcarcr  to  her]  For  now  ruins  are  quite  the  fashion, 
I  understand.^ 

Rachel.  Are  you  still  going  up  to  the  ruins  of  the  Castle 
every  day? 

Bratt.  Yes — it  was  there  it  disappeared,  you  see. 

Rachel.  How  are  you  to-day? 

Bratt.  Yes. — Oh,  yes,  thank  you. — If  it  were  not  for  this 
thing  that  disappeared — and  that  I  can't  find  again.  [He 
stands  staring,  a  little  downward  and  a  little  to  the  left,  with  his 
left  cheek  resting  in  his  left  ha7id]  That  thing  I  looked  for  so 
many  years.  And  now  I  can't  remember  what  it  is.  Isn't 
that  awful? 

Rachel.  [Rises,  caresses  him  gently,  atid  straightens  out  his 
dress]  Now,  my  dear  Bratt,  you'll  be  all  right  here  with  me. 

Bratt.  Yes,  I  am  all  right. — If  it  were  not  for  this  thing  I 
can't  get  hold  of. 

Rachel.  But  I  am  sure  Mr.  Lasalle  w  ill  help  you. 

Bratt.  Mr.  Lasalle  says  we  have  to  search  the  ruins. 

Rachel.  Yes,  of  course,  it  was  there  it  disappeared. 

Bratt.  It  was  there  it  disappeared. 

Rachel.  Well,  go  over  there  now. 

Bratt.  Yes.— If  you  care,  Mr.  Lasalle — ?  Oh!— Yes.— 
Good-bye!  [He  goes  out,  seeming  to  listen  to  somebody  beside 
him]  Do  you  think  so?     I  assure  you  that  I  am  looking  all 


ACT  IV  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  217 

the  time,  but  I  can't  find  it.     And  I  had  taken  so  much 

trouble  with  it 

The  last  words  are  heard  from  the  outside,  as  he  disap- 
pears to  the  left. 
A  Servant  appears  follounng  Bratt. 
Rachel.  [To  the  Servant]  He  mustn't  be  allowed  to  leave 
the  place.  [The  Servant  goes  out  to  the  left]  I  haven't  the 
strength  to  divide  myself.  And  I  wouldn't  if  I  could.— 
Come  back  to  me,  you  thoughts  of  my  grief!  Come  to  me, 
my  black  doves,  and  close  me  in! — Elias! — I  should  have  been 
to  you  what  mother  was  to  father.  She  had  the  courage  and 
the  consecration.  I  didn't  have  enough,  and  so  you  com- 
plained of  me  in  your  last  moments.  For  to  call  me  then, 
when  life  was  leaving  you,  was  like  a  call  to  all  that  then 
was  passing  out  of  your  reach  unfinished,  to  all  that  in  which 
you  had  not  succeeded — and  you  gave  it  my  name!  That's 
the  reason  why  your  eyes  are  pursuing  me:  I  see  them  as 
they  were  when,  with  the  breathing  of  that  complaint,  the 
light  went  out  of  them. — There  you  lay  deserted  by  all,  while 
your  life  was  ebbing  away,  and  my  name  on  your  lips  was 
the  last  glimpse  of  the  waning  shore. — And  I  feel  as  if  for 
me,  too,  life  was  passing  out  of  sight,  and  I  stood  here  utterly 
alone,  calling  to  you. 

She  walks  a  few  steps  as  if  held  by  some  vision;  then  she 

sits  down. 
The  music,  audible  all  the  time,  assumes  now  a  brighter 

colour,  more  suited  to  what  follows. 

Credo  and  Spera  enter  quickly.     As  they  catch  sight  of 

Rachel,  they  halt.     Then  they  steal  up  to  her  slowly, 

one  from  either  side  of  the  tree  at  which  she  is  sitting. 

And  finally  they  kneel  beside  her,  one  on  either  side. 

Rachel.  You  here.'^  [She  draws  them  to  her]  And  I  didn't 

even  remember  you  existed!     Thank  you  for  coming — thank 


218  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  activ 

you!  [She  breaks  into  tears  as  she  takes  her  arms  away  from 
them;  they  wait  quietly]  Did  you  have  permission  to  come? 

Credo  and  Spera.  Yes. 

Spera.  [Cautiously]  We  came  here  to  see  uncle? 

Credo,  [hi  the  same  way]  And  as  we  had  come 

Spera.  Just  now 

Credo.  He  said  that  after  this 

Both.  We  might  stay  here  with  you. 

Rachel.  Did  he  say  that? 

Spera  and  Credo.  Yes.     He  said  that  now  he  was  going 
to  build  for  us  here. 

Rachel.  Oh — this  is  the  first  glimpse  of  daylight! 

Spera.  He  said  that  everything  should  be  arranged 

Both.  As  you  want  it. 

Rachel.  [Drawing  them  to  her  again]  My  own  friends! 

[Silence. 

Spera.  [Cautiously,   as  before]  Oh,  we   haven't   talked  of 
anything  but  you  these  days. 

Credo.  [In  the  same  way]  And  of  what  we  wanted  to  tell 
you — if  we  had  a  chance. 

Spera.  For  we  were  afraid  that  you  couldn't  stand  talking 
to  anybody 

Credo.  That  you  were  suffering  too  much. 

Rachel.  It  has  been  hard.  [Slie  cries  again. 

Credo  and  Spera  wait  with  their  arin.s  folded  about  her. 

Spera.  [Softly]  We  know  that  we  cannot  be  to  you  what 
fie  was.     But  we  will  try. 

Credo.  [In  the  same  loay]  We'll  try  to  be  just  as  you  want 
us.     We'll  share  with  you  everything  that  happens  to  us. 

Spera.  That's  what  we  used  to  do  when  father  and  mother 
lived. 

Credo.  We'll  discover  so  many  new  things  together. 

Rachel.  No,  there  is  no  longer  any  future  for  me! 


ACT  IV  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  219 

Both.  But  you  have  us! 

Spera.  You  have  our  future! 

Rachel.   You  have  the  whole  world  before  you. 

Spera.  And  how  about  you.^  You  who  are  giving  so  many 
a  share  in  the  future? 

Credo.  You  are  so  kind  to  everybody. 

Spera.  To  everybody  w  ithin  reach. 

Rachel.  Oh,  I  can't  even  see  them.  I  have  tried,  but  I 
can't  bear  it.     And  even  if  I  could,  what  would  be  the  use? 

Spera.  Of  making  people  well  and  happy? 

Credo.  There  is  nothing  finer  on  the  earth ! 

Spera.  You  should  have  heard  father  speak  of  it! 

Credo.  Of  conquering  what  he  called  "the  racial  pessi- 
mism." 

Rachel.  [Becoming  attentive]  The  racial  pessimism? 

Credo.  [Cautiously]  Yes,  that  thing  to  which  your  brother 
succumbed. 

Rachel.  [To  herself]  Racial  pessimism. 

Spera.  [With  tJie  same  care]  Which  has  grown  to  such  an 
extent  lately.     It  is  awful  to  hear  people  talk  now. 

Rachel.  What  a  strange  word!  What  did  your  father 
have  to  say  about  it? 

Credo.  It  was  to  him  our  worst  misfortune — what  we 
ought  to  fight  against  first  of  all. 

Spera.  And  it  was  to  that  fight  he  wanted  us  to  devote  our 
lives. 

Rachel.  But  how  did  he  want  you  to  fight  it? 

Both.  By  means  of  inventions. 

Spera.  First  of  all,  in  that  way. 

Credo.  He  began  to  teach  us  when  we  were  little  children. 

Spera.  Credo  knows  just  what  is  needed. 

Credo.  Yes,  I  do.  This  is  what  I  am  working  at  every 
day. 


220  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  activ 

Rachel.  But  how  can  inventions ? 

.  Credo.  Make  men  more  content.'  By  making  it  cheaper 
for  them  to  live — and  easier. 

Spera.  So  that  a  few  square  yards  of  ground  will  give  food 
enough  for  a  man. 

Rachel.  "Would  that  be  possible.'' 

Credo.  When  our  clothes  can  be  made  out  of  leaves 
and  straw;  when  we  can  make  silk  without  silkworms  and 
wool  without  sheep;  when  our  houses  can  be  built  for  one- 
twentieth  of  what  they  cost  now  and  heated  for  nothing — 
don't  you  think  that  will  make  a  difference.'* 

Spera.  And  then  the  railroads,  Credo! 

Credo.  When  we  can  bore  tlirough  rock  as  cheaply  as 
through  ordinary  soil;  when  we  get  rails  made  of  cheaper 
material  than  iron;  when  we  can  get  the  iron  out  of  the  ore 
more  easily  than  now;  when  we  get  a  motive  power  costing 
next  to  nothing — then  the  railroads  will  be  like  streets,  on 
which  travel  is  free.  Then  it  will  be  as  if  we  had  abolished 
distance. 

Spera.  And  the  air-ships.  Credo. 

Credo.  Oh,  you  know  all  about  that,  Rachel — that  we'll 
soon  be  able  to  sail  the  air  as  we  are  sailing  the  sea  now? 

Spera.  Credo  will  work  it  out,  I  tell  you! 

Credo.  Travelling  must  cost  a  trifle  only  and  life  must 
be  made  interesting. 

Spera.  People  must  cease  to  go  hungry,  to  live  in  cold  and 
darkness  and  ugliness,  to  go  around  in  nasty  clothes.  That 
comes  first — afterward  we  can  take  up  other  things. 

Credo.  Tell  what  you  mean  to  do,  Spera. 

Spera.  No,  you  first! 

Credo.  I'll  start  Young  People's  Leagues. 

Rachel,  What ? 

Credo.  Young   People's   I.,eagues — all    over   the   country. 


ACT  IV  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  221 

I'll  get  hold  of  the  brightest,  you  know.  I'll  begin  with  the 
schools — for  at  school  they  must  start  learning  how  to  live 
for  each  other.  Each  school  will  choose  some  one  thing  to 
work  for,  and  then  there  will  be  other  things  for  which  several 
schools  work  in  common.  And  there  must  also  be  something 
for  which  all  the  schools  in  the  country  work  together.  Do 
you  see?  And  it  won't  end  there.  We'll  do  the  same  thing 
with  the  day-labourers,  the  skilled  workmen,  the  sailors,  the 
clerks,  the  university  students — there  must  be  something 
each  group  works  for,  and  something  else  that  all  the  groups 
work  in  common  for.  Isn't  that  right?  There  must  be 
rivalry  about  it,  and  pride  in  what  they  get  done.  And, 
finally,  there  must  be  something  that  every  organisation  in 
the  whole  country  helps  with. — Now  it's  your  turn,  Spera. 

Spera.  [Timidly]  I  want  to  learn  how  to  speak  in  public. 
If  I  can,  I  shall  try  to  tell  the  women  that  they,  too,  must 
have  something  to  live  for — from  the  time  they  begin  going 
to  school.  For  instance,  two  or  three  might  join  together  in 
taking  care  of  a  smaller  girl — and  she  would  be  theirs,  don't 
you  know? 

Rachel.  Oh,  let  me  kiss  that  sweet  little  mouth!  [Kisses 
Spera]  The  mere  fact  that  sucli  dreams  exist — I  suppose 
that's  in  itself  a  promise  of  never-ending  renewal. 

Credo.  All  that  we  have  to  suffer  now,  what  is  it  in  com- 
parison with  what  people  used  to  suffer  in  the  past? 

Spera.  Yet  thej'  pushed  ahead.  And  we  are  only  just 
beginning  now. 

Rachel.  Oh,  you  darling! 

Credo.  Do  you  know  what  father  used  to  say?  Think 
only,  he  would  say,  when  all  those  are  set  free  who  are  now 
employed  in  making  war — when  they  begin  to  work  with 
the  rest.  What  new  inventions  we'll  have  then!  And  what 
prosperity! 


222  BEYOND   HUMAN   MIGHT  activ 

Spera.  And  then  he  said 

Credo.  [IVaving  fier  ciside]  And  then  he  said,  that  cvrn  that 
was  nothing  compared  witli  what  wouhl  happen  when  all  men 
took  np  their  home  on  eartli  once  more. 

Spera.  Heaven  is  here!  In  all  that  we  do,  don't  you 
know?     That's  where  heaven  is! 

Credo.  And  in  the  future,  and  in  what  we  do  for  the 
future — there's  heaven ! 

Rachel.  There  is  a  longing  in  everybody 

Credo.  For  something  better!  It  proves  that  more  hap- 
piness is  in  store  for  us  here!     Don't  you  think  so? 

Rachel.  When  you  talk  like  that,  I  can  see  him  I 

Credo.  Do  you  know — about  us  and  father  and 
mother ? 

Spera.  We  have,  so  to  speak,  to  do  the  work  they  left 
behind. 

Rachel.  You  mean  that  I  should  be  doing  his — I, 
who — — 

Credo.  But,  Rachel — just  because  you  have  suffered  so 
terribly ! 

Rachel.  You  think ? 

Spera.  Oh,  tell  her  about  what  came  after  the  "iron  age" 
of  which  the  ancients  used  to  talk. 

Credo.  No,  about  Antichrist,  rather! 

Spera.  Well,  that's  the  same. 

Credo.  Men  have  always  known  that,  when  their  dis- 
couragement and  despair  reached  their  utmost,  then  the  re- 
newal was  at  hand — then  they  got  strength  enough  for  it — 
only  then! 

Spera.  Every  strong  race  has  had  a  feeling  of  it. 

Credo.  Their  poetry  has  prophesied  al)()ul  it. 

Spera.  [Caittiovsly]  Soon  you  will  come  to  feel  it,  too. 


ACT  IV  BEYOND  HUMAN  MIGHT  223 

Rachel.  [Rising]  I'll  go  to  Holger  at  once,  to  thank  him 
for  this  happiness! 

Credo  and  Spera  rise  also. 
Credo.  All  three  of  us  will  go! 

Spera.  [Nestling  close  to  Rachel  and  speaking  very  tenderly] 
All  four  of  us  will  go ! 

Rachel.  [Kissing  her]  Thank  you! — All  four  of  us! — And 
do  you  know  what  we'll  do  besides.^ 
Credo.  No. 
Spera.  What? 

Rachel.  We'll  ask  him  to  see  the  workmen. 
Both.  Yes,  yes! 

Rachel.  For  some  one  must  begin  to  forgive. 
Both.  [Repeating  in  low  tones]  Yes,  some  one  must  begin 
to  forgive. 

They  go  out  together  to  the  right. 

The  music,  which  has  been  hovering  about  them  all  the 
time,  follows  them  like  a  greeting  out  of  the  future. 

Curtain. 


LABOREMUS 

(LABOREMUS) 
1901 


PERSONS 

WiSBY 

Lydia 
Dr.  Kann 
Langfred 

BORGNY 

A  BeliiBoy 


LABOREMUS 

(L  A  BORE  M  US) 
ACT  I 

A  small  but  elegantly  furnished  sitting-room  in  a  first-class 
German  hotel.  There  is  a  door  in  the  rear,  and  doors  on 
both  sides.  At  the  left,  well  to  the  front,  stands  a  sofa,  on 
which  lies  a  bridal  dress  carefidhj  spread  out.  A  bridal 
wreath,  a  veil,  and  a  pair  of  lady's  gloves  appear  on  the 
table  in  front  of  the  sofa;  also  a  tall  hat  and  a  pair  of 
men's  gloves.  A  man's  summer  overcoat  hangs  over  a  chair 
further  back  in  the  room.  There  are  chairs  around  the  table. 
The  morning  is  well  advanced. 

An  elderly  man  enters  from  the  right.  Over  his  underclothing  he 
tvears  a  dressing-gown  that  hangs  about  him  in  rich  folds. 
He  looks  around  the  room.  When  fie  discovers  the  dress  on 
the  sofa,  he  approaches  it  automatically  and  stands  gazing 
at  it.  Then  he  begins  to  look  around  again  as  if  he  were 
missing  something.  At  last  he  stops  in  front  of  the  door  at 
the  left.  Finding  it  ajar,  he  manages  stealthily  to  peer 
through  the  room  beyond.  Then  he  throios  the  door  wide 
open  and  disappears,  bid  returns  in  the  next  moment  to 
ring  for  an  attendant.  In  a  short  while  a  knock  is  heard  at 
the  door  in  the  rear. 

WiSBY.  Come! 

A  Bellboy  enters. 
WiSBY.  Did  my  wife  go  out? 


2^28  LABOREMUS  act  i 

Bellboy.  Yes,  sir. 
WisBY.  Long  ago? 
Bellboy.  About  an  hour,  I  think. 

WisBY  dismisses  him  with  a  gesture,  and  the  Bellboy 

leaves  the  room. 
Then  Wisby  icalks  about  for  a  while,  stopping  in  front 
of  the  dress  on  the  sofa  again,  and  also  taking  another 
look  into  the  room  at  the  left.     Finally  he  sits  down 
on  one  of  the  chairs  at  the  table  and  falls  at  once  into 
deep  thought. 
The  door  in  the  rear  is  opened  from  the  outside  and 
Lydia  comes  in,  dressed  in  a  very  fashionable  walking- 
suit  and  looking  radiant.     The  door  is  closed  behind 
her  by  somebody  on  the  outside.     On  seeing  Wisby, 
she  stops  for  a  moment  hit  begins  almost  at  once  to 
move  very,  very  softly  toieard  him.     He  neither  sees  nor 
hears  anything  until  she  falls  on  her  knees  beside  him. 
Wisby  wants  to  rise,  but  slie  holds  him  down. 
Lydia.  Good  morning! 

Wisby.  [Brightening  up\  Good  morning! — So  you  liave  al- 
ready been  out  for  a  morning  walk? 

Lydia.  [Tenderly]  The  pleasantest  I  ever  had. 
Wisby.  [Kissing  her]  How  you  smell  of  the  fresh  air!     And 
how  beautiful  you  are! — You  have  slept  well? 

Lydia.  I  fell  asleep  the  moment — the  moment  you  left  me. 
[Rising  to  her  feet]  And  I  slept  until  the  clock  struck  nine. 
[She  takes  off  her  hat  and  gloves  and  puts  them  on  the  table, 
where  she  also  places  lier  parasol;  then  she  picks  up  tJic  veil  and 
the  ivreath  as  if  to  caress  them;  then  she  puts  them  back  again  and 
goes  over  to  Wisby,  wIw  has  been  watching  her  every  movement] 
Perhaps  you  are  wondering  how  I  could  go  out  alone? 
Wisby.  No. 
Lydia.  I  had  to  do  it.     Just  that.     I  had  to  see  if  I  could 


ACT  I  LABOREMUS  229 

recognise  myself  in  this  place,  by  the  little  lakes  out  there, 
in  the  park.  And  among  the  pretty  houses  in  the  suburb. 
Especially  among  those  houses. 

WiSBY.  If  you  could  recognise  yourself? 

Lydia.  No,  I  didn't  use  the  right  word.  I  wanted  to  know 
how  it  felt  when  I  appeared  among  them  again  as  their  equal. 

WiSBY.  As  their 

Lydia.  The  last  time  I  was  here,  I  had  to  beg  for  their 
favour.  I  used  to  be  scared  as  I  passed  them,  thinking  of 
my  concert.  At  that  time  I  was  still  nothing  but  an  infant 
prodigy.  We  gave  three  recitals  in  this  place. — And  God 
help  me  if  I  failed  to  do  my  best.  This  dread  that  so  often 
takes  hold  of  me — I  think  that  was  the  time  when  it  first 
came  into  my  life. 

WiSBY.  Do  you  really  think  so? 

Lydia.  Those  suburban  villas — those  residences  of  the  rich 
— and  the  old  trees  that  are  more  dignified  than  the  houses 
even — and  those  little  lakes — all  those  things  stood  for  what 
is  firmly  established.  While  I  stood  for  all  that  is  adrift. 
And  I  used  to  look  at  them  humblj' — and  in  fear.  But  to- 
day!— For  two  hours  I  have  been  walking  around  among 
them.  For  two  hours  I  have  spread  myself.  Passed  by 
them  on  grand  parade,  so  to  speak.  Greeted  the  company 
and  received  their  greetings  in  return.  [Throwing  herself  at  his 
feet]  Oh,  how  grateful  I  am  to  you ! 

WiSBY.  [Stroking  her  hair  with  his  hand]  My  sweet  one! 

Lydia.  I  have  never  felt  sure  what  kind  of  a  person  I 
was.  Never  until  this  morning.  I  have  always  been  kept 
busy  asking  about  it.     Just  to  myself. 

WiSBY.  You,  too? 

Lydia.  Wliat?  [Rising  quickly]  Are  other  people  like  that 
also? 

WiSBY  7iods. 


230  LABOREMUS  act  i 

Lydia.  And  I  thought  it  was  only  myself —  No,  really! — 
To-day — well,  to-day  I  know  who  I  am.  And  to-day  all  the 
others  know  it,  too.  I  could  see  tliat  they  knew  it — the  villas, 
and  the  tall  old  trees,  and  the  lakes.  While  I  was  still  far  off, 
as  soon  as  they  caught  the  first  glimpse  of  me,  they  got  them- 
selves ready  and  came  forward  to  greet  me. 

WiSBY.  [Smiling]  And  the  people? 

Lydia.  I  am  not  talking  about  the  people.  Oh,  when  I 
used  to  be  sitting  up  there  on  the  platform  pla>ing,  and  never 
had  a  chance  to  be  alone — how  I  did  suffer!  That  one  thing 
— to  be  alone,  to  have  something  for  myself,  to  do  what  I 
myself  wanted — it  seemed  heaven  to  me.  You  talk  of  the 
people.'*  Yes,  if  I  could  have  taken  a  single  one  of  them  off 
into  a  corner,  where  nobody  else  could  hear  us —  Those  eyes: 
"\Mio  is  she.'  AMiere  does  she  come  from.'  Wliat  does  she 
want  of  us?" — The  moment  I  was  free,  I  rushed  away  from 
them,  and  out  into  the  suburb;  out  to  the  trees  and  the  little 
lakes,  for  in  them  I  had  faith.  They  stared  proudly  at  me,  of 
course,  and  I  had  to  keep  at  a  distance.  But  all  the  same  I 
could  say  to  them:  sometimes  I  want  to  be  like  you — to  have 
everything  as  fixed  and  secure  as  you  have  it.  That's 
just  what  I  have  now!  [Leaning  over  Wisby]  You,  dearest, 
you  didn't  go  around  asking  other  people  about  me.  You 
came  straight  from  j'our  big  place  to  ask  me:  "  Will  you  be  my 
wife?"  That's  the  way  it  should  be.  No  one  in  the  whole 
wide  world  except  you  and  me  ever  guessed  that  such  a 
thing  could  happen.  That's  the  way  it  should  be!  That's 
what  makes  complete  haj)piness. 

Wisby.  Thank  you! 

Lydia.  [Turned  aicay  from  him.]  Can  it  be  possible  for  any- 
body else  to  know  what  in  the  last  instance  brings  two  people 
together?  Do  we  know  it  ourselves?  Do  we  ever  quite 
know  why  we  are  what  we  are?     Can  anv  one  of  us  remember 


ACT  I  LABOREMUS  231 

what  we  were  two  years  ago?  Wlien  somebody  comes  and 
tells  me  what  I  did  or  said  that  far  back,  it  makes  me  feel  as 
if  I  were  reading  it  in  a  book.  I  am  no  longer  what  I  was 
two  years  ago — not  to  speak  of  five  or  ten  years  ago.  The 
person  I  was  then  can  very  well  be  more  of  a  stranger  to 
me  than  you  are  now. 

WiSBY.  You  are  absolutely  right. 

Lydia.  You  feel  that  way,  too? 
WiSBY  nods. 

Lydia.  Nobody  can  expect,  then,  that  we  should  let  our- 
selves be  ruled  by  what  was.  After  all,  we  are  not  mere  con- 
tinuations. Whatever  new  thing  is  added  to  us  must  change 
us,  mustn't  it? 

WisBY.  Of  course. 

Lydia.  That  we  two  have  found  each  other,  that  now  we  are 
one,  brings  with  it  so  much  that  is  new.  And  this  comes  in 
everywhere.  In  this  way  we  become  new  persons  and  cannot 
help  acting  quite  differently. 

Wisby.  Well,  does  anybody  doubt  that? 

Lydia.  No,  but  let  us  also  have  the  courage  to  live  up  to  it. 
[She  kneels  beside  him]  Beginning  with  last  night,  only  you  and 
me — no  one  but  you  and  me!  [Cautiously]  Let  nothing  old 
ever  come  between  us. 

Wisby.  [Feverishly]  Never!  I  have  promised  you !  Never, 
I  tell  j^ou! 

Lydia.  Otherwise  I  wouldn't  dare.  The  memories  that 
you  have  put  behind  you — you  shall  be  compensated ! 

Wisby.  I  am  already.  [Lydia  rises]  Every  word  you  say 
makes  me  so  happy.  [He  rises  also. 

Lydia.  Of  all  men  you  are  the  noblest  and  least  exacting. 
For  that  reason  I  can  tell  you  what  I  want.  When  I  woke 
up  this  morning — you  know,  I  slept  from  the  moment  you 
left  me  without  being  awake  once 


232  LABOREMUS  act  i 

WisBY.  Youth! — So  you  told  me  before. 

Lydia.  I  slept  right  up  to  nine  o'clock.  Then  I  jumped 
out  of  bed.  I  could  barely  take  time  to  dress  myself,  so  eager 
was  I  to  get  out  into  that  bright,  delicious  air — to  the  suburb, 
the  park,  the  lakes!  I  wanted  to  bask  in  the  sun  and  to  have 
a  real  good  chat. 

WiSBY.  A  real  good  chat.' 

Lydia.  Not  with  people!  No,  with  the  houses,  with — oh,  I 
have  already  told  you! — How  I  am  longing  for  Paris,  too! 
But  there  we'll  go  driving. 

WiSBY.  We'll  keep  horses.     I  love  horses. 

Lydia.  They  must  be  grey — and  the  liveries  must  be  pale- 
grey — and  then  you  must  drive  yourself.  You  look  so 
handsome.  And  I'll  sit  beside  you.  You'll  drive  me  around 
to  all  the  places  where  I — and  won't  it  make  me  happy, 
though!  [She  leans  very  close  to  him;  he  takes  hold  of  her  hand 
and  strokes  ii\  But  we'll  keep  all  outsiders  at  a  distance. 

WiSBY.  We  will. 

Lydia.  We'll  only  see  them  from  our  box  at  the  opera,  in 
the  theatres,  at  the  races. 

Wisby.  Yes,  at  the  races. 

Lydia.  But  we  must  give  a  couple  of  receptions  with 
music  during  the  winter,  mustn't  we.'  And  they  must  be 
swell.  Just  a  couple  of  them.  The  rest  of  the  time,  all  by 
ourselves. 

WiSBY.  By  ourselves — that's  what  I  love. 

Lydia.  [Leading  him  hack  to  his  chair]  Don't  think  I'll  take 
advantage  of  you.  I  know  your  taste  so  completely.  I 
want  to  be  a  part  of  you  in  everything. 

Wisby.  [Silting  doitm]  Dearest  one! 

Lydia.  [Turned  away  from  him]  Oh,  there  is  something 
from  home  that  pursues  me!  There  was  a  barrel  factory. 
The  staves  lay  piled  up  outside — and  then  they  were  put  to- 


ACT  I  LABOREMUS  233 

gether,  with  hoops  to  hold  them.  Oh,  that  feeling  of  being 
nothing  but  staves — of  not  being  able  to  put  oneself  together! 

WiSBY.  [Rising]  Lydia — dear  friend — you  can  rely  on  me. 

Lydia.  [Turning  toward  him]  What  you  have  done  for  me 
is  splendid.  So  is  what  you  tell  me  now.  But  perhaps 
the  most  splendid  thing  of  all  is  that  you  can  accept  all  I  have 
to  give — all  that  I  am  eager  to  give  to  youl  Most  people 
couldn't  do  that.  They  can  only  accept  a  little  at  a  time. 
But  I  want  to  throw  myself  open  to  you,  body  and  soul. — 
As  a  child  I  used  to  play  at  hide-and-seek  with  myself  in  a 
dell  in  the  woods.  I  used  to  imagine  that  the  place  was 
known  only  to  me,  and  that  I  owned  it — the  sun  and  I. 
That  dell  I  give  to  j^ou. — ^No,  sit  down! — Yes,  you  must  sit 
down  again.  I  want  you  that  way — there  now — and  me  like 
this.  [She  kneels  down  beside  him]  I  am  the  younger  one. 
From  me  you  shall  draw  the  warmth  of  youth.  In  the  midst 
of  winter  you  shall  have  a  table  set  for  you  as  if  it  were  sum- 
mer. You  have  told  me  that  you  get  tired  of  your  own 
thoughts  at  times.  That  will  never  happen  hereafter.  For 
then  I'll  play  to  you.     You  love  music,  don't  you.'^ 

WiSBY.  [Wistfully]  I  do  love  it. 

Lydia.  A  wliile  ago  I  read  about  a  rose-bush  that  was 
peeping  through  the  window  at  one  who  lay  sick.  Of  course, 
you  are  not  sick,  and  I  am  certainly  not  a  rose-bush.  But 
you  want  everybody  to  keep  at  a  certain  distance — even  those 
who  wish  you  well.  You  shall  have  me  just  the  way  you 
want  me.     I  know  your  nature. 

WiSBY.  You  are  good — oh,  how  good  you  are! 

Lydia.  You  say  that  so  wistfully — ?  [Looking  hard  at  him; 
then,  in  a  frightened  voice]  Are  you  not  well.'' 

WiSBY.  Only  a  little  tired. 

Lydia.  You  didn't  sleep  well.-^ 

WiSBY.  No. 


234  LABOREMUS  act  i 

Lydia.  [Rising]  Why? —  Heavens,  hut  you  haven't —  Is 
anything  the  matter  with  your  heart? 

WiSBY.  Dear — it's  something  entirely  <lifferent. 

Lydia.  Something  that  has  happened?  Last  night?  It 
cannot  be  possible.  [Suddenly]  You  have  hati  a  letter 

Wisby.  No,  no!  Nothing  of  that  kind.  At  bottom  there 
is  nothing  at  all. 

Lydia.  You  who  were  so  happy — last — when  you  left  me. 

Wisby.  So  I  am  now.     You  can  be  assured  of  that. 

Lydia.  I  shall  feel  still  more  assured  when  you  have  told 
me  what  it  is. 

Wisby.  If  only  there  was  something.     But  there  isn't. 

Lydia.  You  have  come  to  think  of — of  what?         |' 

Wisby.  Don't  ask  me  any  more,  please.  ^ 

Lydia.  Oh,  now  I  know:  you  have  had  a  dream. 
Wisby  gazes  at  her  a  moment;  tJien  he  nods. 

Lydia.  Such  a  very  trying  dream? 

Wisby.  Perhaps  it  wasn't  a  dream. 

Lydia.  It  wasn't —    Oh,  now  you  must  tell  me  more. 

Wisby.  I  won't  tell  anything — because  there  is  nothing  to 
tell.     Don't  speak  of  it — then  it  will  be  all  done  with. 

Lydia.  I  who  felt  so  happy — and  didn't  notice  that  you 
were  depressed! 

Wisby.  [Rising]  I  am  not  at  all  depressed,  I  can  assure 
you.  Haven't  we  said  from  the  very  first — and  haven't  we 
just  repeated  it — the  past  does  not  concern  us?  And  it  is  not 
going  to  concern  us. 

Lydia.  So  it  was  something  out  of  the  past?     Like  a 
visit 

Wisby.  In  a  dream,  or  something  like  that.  Yes.  The 
foolish  part  of  it  is  that  it  has  robbed  me  of  my  sleep.  But 
more  than  that  it  cannot  do.  I  tell  you — I  tell  you — 
ghosts  have  to  be  bullied.     Back  into  the  night  with  them! 


ACT  I  LABOREMUS  235 

For  the  day  has  come — a  new  day!  I'll  go  in  and  dress, 
and  then  we'll  eat  and  have  a  drive.  It's  such  wonderful 
weather. 

Lydia.  Yes,  the  weather  is  wonderful — but  the  shadow  that 
has  fallen  upon  you — now  it's  on  me. 

WisBY.  Oh,  Lydia — help  me  instead!  It  is  as  if  you 
wanted  to  drag  me  down  in  a  grave. 

Lydia.  There  you  see!  Do  you  stick  so  deeply  in  it.^ 
You  have  to  ask  for  help  to  get  out  of  it — and  you  expect  me 
to  take  that  lightly.'^ 

WiSBY.  Every  added  word  about  it — — 

He  stops  short  and  walks  toward  the  back  of  the  room;  as 
•    he  comes  forward  again,  Lydia  goes  to  meet  him. 

Lydia.  Last  night  you  were  visited  by  your  dead  wife. 
WiSBY  stops  horrified  and  speechless. 

Lydia.  [Who  is  also  deeply  stirred]  In  a  dream — or ? 

WisBY.  I  don't  know. 

Lydia.  What  did  she  want  of  you — ?  What  did  she  want 
of  you.'* 

Wisby.  I  had  just  returned  from  your  room.  I  had  barely 
got  into  bed.     Then — I  saw  her  standing   there!     [Pause. 

Lydia.  Did  she  speak.'' 

Wisby.  [Raising  one  of  his  hands]  Don't,  don't! — I 
shouldn't  have  said  anything  at  all. 

Lydia.  Perhaps  not.     But  you  cannot  stop  now. 

Wisby.  No  more  can  I  go  on. 

Lydia.  Then  I  shall  have  to.  She  said  something  you  dare 
not  repeat. 

Wisby.  [In  despair]  All  that  has  no  place  in  the  daylight. 
Let  it  stay  where  it  belongs ! 

Lydia.  In  your  soul?     In  your  silent  hours? 

Wisby.  [Energetically]  I'll  push  it  away  from  me — like  this! 
[He  makes  a  movement  as  if  rubbing  something  out  of  one  hand 


236  LABOREMUS  act  i 

iriih  the  palm  of  the  other;  then  he  vses  the  first  hand  in  tlie  same 
iray;  this  gesture  lie  repeats  several  times,  and  each  time  he  ac- 
companies  it  icith  an  energetic]  Like  this! 

Lydia.  But  you  cannot  push  it  away  from  me.  After  this 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  look  at  you  without  asking  in  my 
thoughts:  \Vhat  was  it  she  said  to  him? 

WisBY.  This  is  not  right.  As  long  as  you  don't  repeat  such 
things  they  fade  out — by  degrees — a  little  every  day — until 
at  last  there  is  nothing  but  a  shadow  left.  But  if  you  repeat 
them [lie  checks  himself,  turns  around,  and  walks  away. 

Lydia.  [Following  him]  But  if  you  repeat  them? 

WisBY.  [Facing  her  again]  Then  we  put  life  into  them, 
don't  you  understand?  And  then  they  grow.  I  tell  you,  I 
tell  you:  sensible  people  don't  give  dreams  and  ghosts  a 
chance  to  raise  their  heads —     We'll  leave  this  place  to-night. 

Lydia.  Are  you  sure  that  no  one  else  will  come  along? 

WisBY.  Come  along? 

Lydia.  And  sit  between  us — mix  in  our  talk? 

WiSBY.  But,  Lydia 

Lydia.  For  I  am  sure  she  will.  I  can  see  her  behind  you 
now. 

WiSBY  makes  a  deprecatory  gesture. 

Lydia.  I  shall  always  see  her  behind  you.  Don't  come  to 
me  any  more — for  you  are  not  alone  when  you  come! 

WisBY.  But,  Lydia,  how 

Lydia.  She  will  drive  me  out  of  the  house.  Who  could 
sleep  where  you  are  sleeping— with  her  watching  you? 

WisBY.  But  if  I  told  you,  what  could ? 

Lydia.  Then  there  would  be  two  of  us  to  face  it.  Then  we 
would  take  each  other  by  the  hand  and  walk  right  up  to 
it — no  matter  what  it  was  or  whence  it  came. 

WisBY.  [.4fter  a  moment" s  thought]  \\d\—[Then  abruptly] 
No— I  won't  tell. 


:t  I  LABOREMUS  237 

Lydia.  [In  a  low  voice]  It  was  about  me,  then? 

WiSBY    remains    silent.      Lydia's  face    grows    hard. 
WisBY  sees  it,  and  they  stand  staring  at  each  other. 
Lydia.  You  had  better  go  m  and  dress  now. 

WiSBY  goes  out  to  the  right. 

For  a  little  while  Lydia  stands  tvithout  moving.  Then 
her  glance  turns  toward  the  left,  where  the  bridal  dress 
is  lying.  She  goes  over  and  throws  it  on  the  floor. 
Then  she  throws  the  veil  and  the  gloves  after  the  dress 
and  tramples  down  the  whole  pile.  At  last  she  tears 
up  the  bridal  wreath  and  scatters  the  pieces  on  top  of 
the  rest.  This  done,  she  throws  herself  on  a  chair, 
with  her  arms  on  the  table  and  her  head  buried  in  her 
arms.     Then  she  bursts  into  loud  sobbing. 

WiSBY,  u'ho  had  left  the  door  ajar  on  leaving,  is  suddenly 
seen  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  without  any 
dressing-gown  on. 

Curtain. 


ACT  II 

A  large  and  richly  furnislicd  sitting-room  in  a  French  liotcl. 
There  is  a  door  in  the  back  and  another  at  the  right,  near  the 
foreground.  A  grand  piano  stands  at  the  right.  Near  it, 
but  farther  forward  and  away  from  tJie  wall,  is  a  chaise- 
longue.  An  antique  cabinet  of  magnificent  workmanship 
stands  at  the  left.  Nearer  the  foreground  on  the  left  are 
grouped  a  table,  a  sofa,  and  several  chairs. 

WiSBY  enters  with  a  card  in  his  hand.     He  is  followed 
by  a  Bellboy. 
Bellboy.  Yes,  sir. 
WisBY.  Is  my  wife  up? 

Bellboy.  I  don't  tliiiik  so,  sir.     I'll  find  out. 
Wisby.  Never  mind.     Let  the  gentleman  come  in. 
The  Bellboy  goes  out  and  closes  tfie  door. 
Wisby  goes  to  the  cabinet,  icithin  tvhich  a  number  of  de- 
canters and  glasses  became  visible  ivlien  he  opens  the 
door.     He  takes  out  one  of  the  decanters,  pours  out  and 
drinks  two  glasses  of  something  in  quick  succession, 
and  then  closes  the  door  again. 
The  Bellboy  opens  the  rear  door.     At  that  moment  a 
liotel  clerk  passes  rapidly  along  the  corridor  outside, 
from  left  to  right,  crying  out:  "  Forty-two,  forty-three, 
and  forty-four.''     He  is  followed  by  a  group  of  people 
in  travelling  clothes.     One  of  these,  a  man,  calls  out 
after  the  clerk:   "Not  too  far,  please l"     An  elderly 
238 


ACT  n  LABOREMUS  239 

lady  calls  to  him  in  the  same  way:  "On  the  sunny  side, 
please.''^ 
After  all  of  these  people  have  disappeared.  Dr.  Kann 
enters  from  the  right  with  a  large  leatlier  case  under  his 
arm. 
The  Bellboy  closes  the  door  behind  him. 
WiSBY  meets  him  holding   out   his  hand,  ivhich  Dr. 
Kann  seizes.     Neither  of  them  speaks.     Dr.  Kann's 
glance  rests  steadily  on  Wisby,  wlio  evades  it.     At  last 
Dr.  Kann  puts  down  the  leather  case. 
Wisby.  You  come  from  Norway.^ 
Dr.  Kann.  By  way  of  England. 

Wisby.  Won't  you  sit  down.^  [Both  sit  down. 

Dr.  Kann.  [Looking  around]  You're  splendidly  fixed  here. 
Have  you  been  living  here  all  the  time.^ 

Frequent  pauses  occur  during  the  ensuing  conversation. 
Wisby.  We  travel  during  the  summer. 

Dr.  Kann.  I  heard  you  were  in  Switzerland 

Wisby.  [Leaning  hack  in  his  chair,  with  his  arms  folded]  Is 
it  long  since  you  left  Norway? 
Dr.  Kann.  About  a  week. 
Wisby.  I  suppose  it  was  real  winter  there.'' 
Dr.  Kann.  Real  winter — and  that  makes  the  spring  down 
here  the  more  pleasant. 

Wisby.  How  long  are  you  going  to  be  here? 
Dr.  Kann.  It  depends.     I  am  not  here  for  my  pleasure. 
Wisby.  [Sharply]  I  have  been  expecting  you. 
Dr.  Kann.  He  is  young.     And  it  is  better  to  commit  what 
follies  you  must  while  you  are  young. 

Wisby.  He  has  been  gone  for  a  month.     But  last  night  he 
returned.  [With  a  show  of  surprise]  You  know  it? 
Dr.  Kann.  I  come  from  him  now. 
Wisby.  You  do? 


240  LABOREMUS  act  n 

Dr.  Kann.  I  have  a  room  in  this  hotel,  next  door  to  his. 

WisBY.  Oh! 

lie  rises,  walks  over  to  the  door  at  the  right,  and  makes 
sure  it  is  locked. 

Dr.  Kann.  Is  anybody  in  there.^ 

WiSBY.  I  don't  think  so.  [He  sits  down]  But  tliose  rooms 
belong  to  us. 

Dr.  Kaxx.  You  have  been  giving  some  musicales,  I  ha\e 
heard. 

WiSBY.   Yes. 

Dr.  Kanx.  Does  she  play  as  well  as  she  used  to? 

WiSBY.  Better  than  ever.     I  tell  you 

He  checks  himself  as  he  bends  forward;  tlien  he  throws 
himself  back  in  the  chair,  folds  his  arms  as  before,  and 
sits  staring  in  front  of  himself. 

Dr.  Kann.  That  was  the  way  they  met,  wasn't  it.^ 

WiSBY.  [Not  moving  a  muscle\  Right  here. 

Dr.  Kann.  She  played  to  him — his  own  Rondo? 

WiSBY.  [Turning  his  face  toward  Dr.  K\xn]  You  ought 
to  have  seen  it.  [lie  resumes  his  previous  position. 

Dr.  EIann.  It  wasn't  long  ago.  was  it?  Only  a  couple  of 
months? 

WiSBY.  Just  about — sonietliiiig  like  that.  [Turning  his 
head  toward  Dr.  Kann  again]  Are  you  going  to  take  him  home 
with  you? 

Dr.  Kann.  I  have  no  authority  over  him. 

WiSBY.  You  haven't — as  his  uncle  and  guardian? 

Dr.  Kann.  Even  if  I  had,  I  wouhln't  interf«M-o. 

WiSBY.  [Jumping  up]  You  wouldn't  interfere?  You 
wouldn't  interfere? 

Dr.  Kann.  Not  so  that  he  could  notice  it. 

WiSBY.  Oh !  [He  seats  himself. 

Dr.  Kann.  But  you,  Wisby ? 


ACT  II  LABOREMUS  241 

WiSBY.  [F alter ingly]  What  about  me? 

Dr.  Kann.  Why  don't  you  go  home?  After  all,  that 
would  be  the  best  solution. 

WiSBY  leans  forward  with  a  quick  movement  and  rests  his 
hands  on  his  knees  as  if  about  to  say  something;  then 
he  sits  back  as  before. 

Dr.  Kann.  I  went  out  to  your  place  just  before  I  left. 
[WiSBY  makes  no  response]  When  I  showed  myself,  your  dogs 
almost  went  crazy.  I  think  it  made  them  feel  that  you 
couldn't  be  far  away,  either.  [Wisby  shores  restlessness]  Don't 
^ou  hear  the  pack  at  times — in  full  cry  among  the  hills — 
through  those  wonderful  woods  of  yours?  That  clean-cut 
bay  of  Diana's? 

WiSBY.  How — how  did  the  dogs  look? 

Dr.  Kann.  Well,  that  was  the  worst!  Or  rather-^it  was 
the  only  thing  I  could  find  fault  with.  Diana  had  grown  fat — 
she  like  the  rest.     And  the  horses  were  also  too  fat  by  far. 

Wisby.  [With  a  burst  of  temper,  as  he  rises]  Oh,  that  loafer, 
Ole — that  arch-loafer!  Haven't  I  told  him?  Haven't  I 
written  him,  too?  "  Don't  let  the  dogs  get  fat ! "  And  I  have 
written  him  besides,  that  the  horses  should  be  exercised  every 
day.  [He  rushes  back  and  forth]  It's  simply  unbearable!  I 
tell  you — I  tell  you,  there  isn't  one  I  can  trust! 

Dr.  Kann.  But  you  mean  to  go  home,  don't  you? 
Wisby  does  not  reply. 

Dr.  Kann.  You  haven't  asked  what  made  me  go  out  to 
your  place. 

Wisby.  [Stopping]  Was  anybody  sick? 

Dr.  Kann.  No,  they're  all  right,  every  one. — But  I  thought 
that,  as  I  was  coming  here,  I  ought  to  bring  something  with 
me  for  you 

Wisby.  For  me? 

Dr.  Kann.  [Rising]  I  went  into  your  study — and  this  is 


242  LABOREMUS  act  u 

what  I  brought.  [He  goes  over  to  the  leatlier  case]  I  had  a 
nice  case  made  for  it.  [He  picks  up  the  case  and  sets  it  on  end 
on  the  table  after  having  released  a  support  attaclied  to  the  back] 
Perhaps*,  I  thought,  it  might  give  you  pleasure  to  see  her 
again. 

WisBY.  You  don't  mean  to  say  it's 

Dr.  K.\nn.  Yes,  it  is.     It  is  she  herself. 

Opening  the  front  of  the  case,  he  reveals  the  portrait  of  a 
woman.  Only  her  Iiead  and  shoulders  appear,  but 
life-size.  She  wears  a  high-necked  black  dress,  with 
a  broad  collar  of  white  lace.  Tlie  portrait  suggests 
strongly  a  Van  Dyck. 

WiSBY.  Amelia ! 

He  approaclies  it  slowly,  as  if  in  fear,  and  kneels  in  front 
of  it;  rising  again,  he  takes  out  his  handkerchief  and 
wipes  the  picture  with  great  care,  giving  special  at- 
tention to  one  side  of  it. 
Dr.  Kann.  I  don't  think  there  is  any  dust  on  it.     But  it 
needs  varnishing. 
WiSBY.  Yes. 

He  moves  away  from  it  slowly  and  breaks  into  tears  as  he 
sits  down. 
Dr.  Kann.  And  how  about  your  daughter,  ^Visb^•? 
WiSBY.  I  have  no  daughter.  [He  begins  to  cry  again. 

Dr.  Kann.  What  kind  of  talk  is  that.^ 
WisBY.  She  is  so  far  away.     And  she  doesn't  answer  my 
letters. 

Dr.  Kann.  So  you  have  written  to  hcr.^ 
WiSBY.  I  have  written  again  and  again. 
Dr.  Kann.  Well,  I  know  positively  that  she  has  written  to 
you  also. 

WiSBY.  [Surprised,  in  a  low  voice]  What  are  you  saying.' 


ACT  II  LABOREMUS  243 

Dr.  Kann.  She  has  written  repeatedly.  And  she  says 
just  what  you  do:  that  she  never  gets  an  answer. 

WiSBY.  [Rises  with  an  instinctive  glance  toivard  the  door  at 
the  right:  he  takes  a  few  steps  in  that  direction;  then  he  turns 
around]  Will  you — will  you  be  absolutely  frank  with  me.'* 

Dr.  Kann.  Of  course  I  will. 

WisBY.  I  find — I  find  it  so  hard  to  speak  of  it — but  I  have 
nobody  to  ask.  And'I  don't  want  to  write.  [He  looks  around 
before  he  goes  on]  Who  is — [After  another  glance  toivard  the  door 
at  the  right  he  forces  himself  with  difficulty  to  say]  Yes — who  is 
she.'  [Wlien  Dr.  Kann  doesnt  reply  at  once,  he  adds]  It  scares 
me — it  scares  me  to  think  that  everj'body  may  know  it 
but  me. 

Dr.  Kann.  That  may  very  well  be  the  case. 

WiSBY.  [With  deep  feeling  and  evident  bitterness,  while  still 
speaking  in  a  subdued  tone]  To  think  of  it,  that  nobody 
would  tell  me  anything!     Not  even  you! 

Dr.  Kann.  Did  we  have  a  chance.'  Did  anybody  have 
the  slightest  idea  of  what  you  were  up  to.' 

WiSBY.  Perhaps  not.  Perhaps  not.  And  yet — that  no- 
body should  speak  up !  She  had  been  staying  with  us,  after 
all. 

Dr.  Kann.  Yes,  she  had.  But  when  you  left  in  that  sud- 
den way,  all  of  us  thought  you  had  gone  to  bring  home  your 
daughter.  You  had  caused  the  house  to  be  disinfected,  don't 
3'ou  know. — And  then,  instead,  you  bob  up  in  Paris  as  a 
married  man! 

WisBY.  Don't  let's  talk  of  it! — What  are  people  saying.' — • 
Don't  spare  me:  what  are  they  saying? 

Dr.  Kann.  Suppose  we  sit  down. 

WiSBY.  All  right,  but — why? 

Dr.  Kann.  I  have  something  to  tell  you;  something  that 
will  take  a  little  time.  [Both  sit  down. 


244  LABOREMUS  act  ii 

WisBY.  [Gets  up  again]  Wait  a  moment!  [He  goes  to  the 
leather  case  and  closes  ii;  then  he  comes  back  and  sits  down  once 
more]  Now! 

Dr.  KLvnn.  It  happened  several  years  ago,  at  one  of  our 
Norwegian  health  resorts.  One  day,  about  the  middle  of  the 
season,  there  arrived  a  beautiful  young  lady,  more  fashionable 
than  all  the  rest,  and  a  famous  pianist  to  boot. 

WisBY.  I  see! 

Dr.  Kann.  In  some  strange  way  she  had  become  para- 
lysed. 

WisBY.  Who  had  become  paralysed? 

Dr.  Kann.  She. — She  could  barely  get  her  feet  down  on 
the  floor.  She  had  to  be  lifted  and  carried  and  wheeled 
around  in  an  invalid's  chair. 

WisBY.  Well,  if  I  ever ! 

Dr.  Kann.  Wait  a  moment!  You  can  easily  imagine  what 
a  pleasure  the  gentlemen  took  in  doing  it  for  her. 

WiSBY.  But — that's  something  she  never  told  me! 

Dr.  Kann.  They  carried  her  to  and  from  the  table,  to  the 
piano  and  away  from  it.  They  lifted  her  into  the  wheel-chair 
and  out  of  it  again.  And  for  the  privilege  of  wheeling  her 
about — I  won't  say  exactly  that  it  came  to  fighting — although 
Norwegians  are  ready  to  fight  for  less  than  that — but  all  her 
power  over  them  was  needed  to  prevent  it.  She  couldn't 
bear  any  kind  of  scandal.  She  was  very  virtuous — made  a 
special  point  of  it.  She  didn't  show  the  slightest  preference 
for  anybody.  So  that  everybody  was  in  hopes,  everybody 
was  trying  to  win  her  favour  by  service.  By  and  by  the 
tension  became  too  intense,  and  parlies  were  formed  for  and 
against.  Old  men  made  fools  of  themselves;  married  couples 
were  talking  of  divorce;  other  ladies  fled  from  the  place — 
until  at  last  something  hai)j)ened. 

WiSBY.  [Who  has  been  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow]  Well.^ 


ACT  11  LABOREMUS  245 

Dr.  Kann.  The  youngest  of  the  attendant  physicians — 
who,  besides,  was  the  one  who  had  lost  his  head  most  com- 
pletely— had  to  give  up  his  own  room  to  a  patient.  In  the 
mean  time  he  was  put  in  a  room  next  to  the  lady  in  ques- 
tion— on  the  ground  floor.  Of  course,  he  couldn't  sleep.  He 
lay  awake  listening — to  hear  if  she  should  stir,  if  she  should 
cough  or  sigh,  if  she — until,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  he 
heard  her  get  out  of  bed  and  begin  to  walk  around. 

WiSBY.  She  walked.^ 

Dr.  Kann.  Of  course.  Back  and  forth.  During  a  whole 
hour.  The  night  after  that  she  began  to  dance.  The 
woman  was  as  chipper  as  a  sparrow,  and  she  simply  had  to  get 
some  exercise.  The  third  night  he  didn't  hear  a  thing — be- 
cause she  had  left — he  having  given  her  a  hint  himself. 

WiSBY.  Well,  if  I  ever  in  all  my  living  days 

Dr.  Kann.  The  fellow  was  so  ashamed  that  he  kept  it  en- 
tirely to  himself.  That  is,  until  you  married  her,  Wisby. 
Then  he  told. 

Wisby  gets  up  and  begins  to  ivalk  back  and  forth. 

Dr.  Kann.  That's  pretty  good,  isn't  it? 

Wisby.  [Laughs  in  a  strange  fashion,  then  he  comes  hack  to 
Dr.  Kann]  Is  there  anything  more?  Of  course,  there  must 
be  more! 

Dr.  Kann.  There  is  that  story  about  old  man  Stephansen. 

Wisby.  You  mean  Stephansen ? 

Dr.  Kann.  Exactly!     The  millionaire! 

Wisby.  Isn't  he  dead.^ 

Dr.  Kann.  Yes,  he's  dead  now.  But  he  lived  quite  a 
while,  that  fellow.     She  has  an  annuity  that  came  from  him. 

Wisby.  [Attentive]  From  him.'' — It's  from  him  it  comes? 
And  she  says — [He  stops  and  makes  an  evident  effort  not  to 
speak;  in  the  same  way  he  forces  himself  to  sit  doivn  again] 
What  was  the  matter  with  old  Stephansen? 


246  LABOREMUS  act  ii 

Dr.  K1\nn.  The  old  chap  was  seventy,  or  more,  when  he 
became  so  enamoured  of  her  that  he  followed  her  all  over 
Europe.  He  stayed  invariably  at  the  same  hotel  she  did. 
It  lasted  quite  a  while.  He  was  determined  to  marry  her. 
But  his  relations  took- a  hand  in  it — as  might  be  expected. 
They  didn't  want  to  lose  all  the  money.  So  he  had  to  give 
up.     But  the  old  man  was  never  himself  after  that. 

WiSBY.  [After  a  while]  So  that  annuity  comes  from  old 
Stephansen. — Is  there  still  more? 

Dr.  Ka.nn.  I  have  no  way  of  knowing  everything — but  I 
read  a  few  years  ago  about  a  young  English  officer — he  shot 
himself  at  a  hotel  in  Amsterdam.  Outside  the  door  of  a 
woman  artist,  the  report  said.  It  created  quite  a  sensation 
at  the  time.     Every  newspaper  printed  it. 

WiSBY.  Why — that  happened  while  my  wife  wa-s  still  living. 
I  think  we  read  it  together.  Yes,  I  am  sure. — Did  that 
refer  to  her.^ 

Dr.  Kann.  No  name  was  given — or  it  was  not  given  in 
full,  at  least.  But  now  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  it 
was  she. 

WiSBY.  Outside!     So  it  wasn't  on  the  inside,  after  all.' 

Dr.  Kann.  [Looking  at  him  with  svrprise]  But,  Wisby 

WiSBY.  [Rising]  Oh,  leave  me  alone!  [lie  walks  axtay. 

Dr.  Kann.  [Following  him  with  his  eyes]  That  oflBcer  prob- 
ably had  no  money. 

WisBY.  [Stops  abruptly,  then  with  a  movement  toward  Dr. 
Kann]  Do  you  think  it  will  ever  do  for  me  to  go  home? 

Dr.  Kann.  Alone?  Yes.  [Rising]  Frankly  speaking — do 
you  want  to  go  on  with  this? 

WiSBY.  [Turns  from  Dr.  Kann  //;  great  e.vritement,  eomes 
back,  tries  to  say  something,  tnrns  away  again,  and  manages 
finally  to  say]  That  time  she  wa.s  leaving  us — it  was  in  the 
winter,  an   ice-cold  day  without  snow — my   wife  was  lying 


ACT  n  LABOREMUS  247 

inside — she  was  much  worse  again — and  there,  on  the  outside 
— there  she  was  getting  into  the  carriage — she  who  had 
brought  us  music  and  hope.  It  was  as  if  life  itself  was 
leaving  us.  I  asked  her  to  stay.  But  she  wouldn't.  That 
time 

Dr.  Kann.  Pardon  me  for  mterrupting  you.  But  she 
didn't  leave  of  her  own  will. 

WiSBY.  What  are  you  saying.' 

Dr.  KAi>jTsr.  She  didn't  leave  of  her  own  will,  I  say. 

WiSBY.  How — .''     You ? 

Dr.  Kann.  Yes,  I — I  drove  her  away. 

WiSBY.  [Friglitened]  Why? 

Dr.  Kann.  She  wanted  to  kill  the  woman  that  was  inside. 

WiSBY.  Kill  her? 

Dr.  Kann.  Not  with  a  dagger,  or  with  poison.  Not  by 
choking  her.  But  with  her  eyes  and  her  will.  She  wanted 
to  take  the  place  of  that  woman. 

WisBY.  O  Lord ! 

Dr.  Kann.  The  sick  woman  could  feel  it.  And  that  was 
enough! — What  was  it  she  couldn't  feel,  Wisby? 

WiSBY.  What — did  she  feel? 

Dr.  Kann.  I  can  see  that  you  have  guessed  it. 

Wisby.  As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  above,  I  didn't  under- 
stand at  that  time!  As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  above,  I 
wasn't  false  to  my  poor  wife — not  by  a  word,  not  by  as  much 
as  a  gesture 

Dr.  Kann.  No.  It  wasn't  necessary,  either.  She  could 
feel  what  you  were  thinking.  That  was  enough.  Without 
that  the  other  one  could  never  have  triumphed. 

Wisby  stares  at  Dr.  Kann  until  at  last  he  sinks  down 
on  the  chair  beside  which  he  has  been  standing. 

Dr.  Kann.  No  one  has  a  right  to  say  that  she  would  have 
succumbed,  no  matter  what  happened.     If  I  hadn't  thought 


248  LABOREMUS  act  h 

that  she  could  live,  that  she  was  on  the  way  to  recovery — do 
you  think  I  would  have  left  her?  Or  turned  her  over  to  my 
colleagues?  Oh,  no! — When  I  got  back,  the  worst  had  hap- 
pened.    Then  it  was  too  late. 

WiSBY.  [Jumps  up  and  begins  to  run  about;  suddenly  he  re- 
members the  cabinet  and  rushes  over  to  it;  but,  as  he  opens  the 
door,  he  recalls  that  somebody  else  is  present,  and  so  he  slams  the 
door  again,  and  rushes  back  to  tlie  clmir,  wfiere  he  sinks  down, 
overwhelmed]  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  all  that.^ 

Dr.  Kann.  I  wanted  to  spare  you,  man!  Can't  you  un- 
derstand that? 

WiSBY.  Spare  me?  If  you  had  spoken,  you  would  have 
spared  me  all  this! 

Dr.  Kanx.  It  was  such  a  desperate  case  that  I  couldn't 
but  believe  that  you  saw  through  it  yourself. 

WisBY.  No,  no,  no! 

Dr.  Kann.  How,  then,  did  you  get  on  the  track  of  it? 

WiSBY.  [Rising  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy]  I  tell  you — I  tell  you — 
she  came  into  my  room,  just  as  she  used  to  come  and  go  in 
her  lifetime — wearing  her  black  dress  with  the  lace  collar 
around  the  neck 

Dr.  Kann.  [In  a  whisper]  Amelia?     Your  dead ? 

WiSBY.  The  night  of  the  wedding.  I  was  sitting  on  my 
bed — or  at  least  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  was  wide-awake  and 
sitting  on  my  bed,  when  she  came  in  and  looked  so  sadly  at 
me.  And  .she  said,  "She  from  whom  you  have  just  come 
took  my  life!" 

Dr.  Kann.  [As  before]  She  said  that? 

WiSBY.  And  since — well,  since  then  everything  has  been 
driving  me  to  despair.  I  have  not  been  able  to  think  of  any- 
thing else.  [He  walks  away,  only  to  return  at  once]  But  if  I  am 
her  accomplice — well,  then — then 

Dr.  Kann.  This  cannot  go  on! 


ACT  II  LABOREMUS  249 

WiSBY.  It  must!     Just  on  that  account! 

Dr.  Kann.  There  is  one  who  can  help  in  this  matter. 

WiSBY.  Me?  Help  me?  Do  you  think  I  want  to  be 
helped?  Do  you  think  I  can  ever  forgive  myself? — ^There  is  a 
proverb  that  says:  We  reap  as  we  have  sown.  But  I  tell  you 
— I  tell  you — we  reap  because  we  have  Jiot  sown!  Weeds— 
that's  what  we  reap!  I  have  never  done  a  thing  in  all  my 
life.     And  that  breeds  unwholesome  tendencies. 

Dr.  Kann.  [Interrupting  him]  This  cannot  go  on !  That's 
all  there  is  to  it! — There  is  one  still  living  who  has  the 
power  of  pardon.  She  can  bring  it  to  you — day  by  day — in 
your  own  home. 

WisBY.  Borgny?  I  dare  not  look  at  her  again !  Not  after 
to-day — not  after  what  I  have  just  learned 

Dr.  Kann.  But  she  will  dare.  That's  the  main  thing. 
She  will  take  you  into  her  arms — to  bring  that  about  was  just 
the  reason  I  took  this  with  me. 

[He  goes  up  to  the  case  containing  the  portrait. 

WiSBY.  Yes,  open  it  again !     Just  for  a  moment ! 

Dr.  Kann.  [Opens  the  case]  They  resemble  each  other, 
mother  and  daughter,  like  two 

WisBY.  [With  his  eyes  on  the  portrait,  he  doesn't  hear  Dr. 
Kann,  but  speaks  simultaneously]  Good  heavens! — I  say — I 
say:  forgive  me! 

Dr.  Kann.  Do  you  want  to  keep  it,  Wisby? 

WiSBY.  [Alarmed]  No,  no!  Take  it  along!  [He  takes  in- 
stinctively a  feio  steps  toward  the  door  at  the  right;  then  in  a  low 
to7ie]  Why,  it's  open! — No,  not  now! — But  it  was! 

Dr.  Kann.  The  door  was  open  for  quite  a  while. 

WiSBY.  Is  it  possible?     But  when  I  looked 

Dr.  Kann.  [Standing  by  the  portrait]  So  you  don't  want  to 
keep  it? 

WiSBY.  No!     Take  it  along!     It  mustn't  stay  here! 


250  LABOR  EMUS  act  u 

Dr.  Kaxn.  [Closes  Ow  case  quirldy,  takes  it  under  his  arms 
and  picks  up  his  hut]  Then  I'll  go.     Good-bye! 

WiSBY.  [Has  once  more,  quite  mechanically,  made  for  the 
door  at  the  right;  as  he  turns  about,  he  sees  that  Dr.  Kann 
is  gone,  and  that  he  has  not  closed  tlie  rear  door  on  leaving;  going 
to  the  rear  door  to  close  it,  he  discovers  outside  a  rcoman  dressed 
exactly  like  the  portrait  aiui  looking  very  much  like  it;  as  he  sees 
her  standing  in  front  of  tJie  open  door,  he  reels  backward  and  cries 
out  with  all  his  might]  Lydia!     Oh,  Lydia! 

Lydia  comes  running  from  the  right  with  her  h-air  doirn, 
and  dressed  in  an  elegant,  loosely  draped  morning 
gown.  She  sees  xohat  her  husband  is  staring  at.  She 
and  h3  stand  close  together.  The  tvoman  on  tlie  out- 
side, who  seemed  on  tJie  verge  of  entering,  passes  on. 
WisBY.  This — this  is  the  second  time!  Now  there  can  be 
no  mistake. 

Lydia.  But  what  is  it.' 

AVisBY.  [Deeply  shaken]  Doesn't  your  conscience  tell  you.' 
Lydia.  [Recovering   her  self-control]  My   conscience.' — Oh, 
close  that  door,  will  you? 

WisBY.  It's  more  than  I  dare. 
Lydia.  Well,  I  dare! 

She  goes  rapidly  toward  the  door,  but  wlien  slie  is  near  it 
she  stops  and  recoils;  at  that  moment  somebody  closes 
the  door  from  the  outside. 
WiSBY.  [Apjyroaching  her]  What  did  you  see? 
Lydia.  Nothing. — It     is     nothing.     Absolutely     nothing. 
You  are  drunk,  of  course! 

WisBY.  What  am  I ? 

Lydia.  This  is  Dr.  Kann's  doing! 

WiSBY.  Dr.  Kann's?     But,  Lydia 

Lydia.  I  heard  every  word  you  two  said  to  each  other. 
WiSBY.  Oh,  you  did? 


ACT  II  LABOREMUS  251 

Lydia.  You  have  betrayed  me!  You  have  deceived  me! 
You  who  said  that  we  were  to  start  life  all  over  again !  Noth- 
ing of  what  had  been  should  continue  to  exist.  Neither  for 
j^ou  nor  for  me.  That's  what  you  promised.  And  you  broke 
your  promise  the  very  first  day!  You  have  been  breaking  it 
ever  since!  All  the  time  since  then! — Haven't  you  tortured 
me  enough  yet.'* 

WiSBY.  But,  Lydia 

Lydia.  [Stamping  her  foot]  Haven't  you  said  everything 
yet.^     Are  you  not  done  yet.^ 

WisBY.  [With    dignity]  I'll    go.     But    I    tell    you— I    tell 

you [He  goes  out  through  the  door  in  the  rear. 

Lydia.  [As  she  follows  him  toward  the  door]  I  tell  you — I 
tell  you — that  you  are  a  scoundrel!  You  two  have  been 
lying  shamefully  about  me!     Oh,  shamefully,  shamefully! 

In  his  excitement  Wisby  forgets  the  door,  which  is  left 
open  as  he  disappears.     A  mament  later  somebody  is 
heard  humming  a  melody  outside,  and  a  light-haired 
young  man  becomes  visible  in  the  doorway. 
Langfred.  Oh,  here  you  are. 

He  enters  and  closes  the  door  behind  him;  then  he  walks 

slowly  toward  Lydia,  as  if  anticipating  some  great 

pleasure. 

Lydia,  who  had  stopped  to  listen  at  the  first  sound  of  the 

hummed  melody,  now  puts  both  her  hands  up  to  her 

heart;  in  that  way  she  remains,  ivithout  turning  about. 

Langfred.  [Stepping  up  beJmid  her  and  whispering  into  her 

ear]  Thanks  for  last  night! 

He  puts  his  arms  through  hers  with  a  stealthy,  gliding 

motion. 
Lydia  turns  around  quickly  and  leans  her  head  against 
his  shoulder. 


252  LABOREMUS  act  u 

Langfred.  Lydia! 

Lydia  breaks  into  tears. 

Langfred.  Has  anything  happened? 

Lydia.  Don't  abandon  me,  Langfred!     Hide  me! 

Langfred.  What  is  it,  dear? 

Lydia  does  not  reply,  but  the  convulsive  shaking  of  Jicr 
body  shows  that  she  is  still  crying. 

Langfred.  Any  unpleasantness  on  my  account?  [She  does- 
nt  answer]  Has  anybody  been  saying  anything  to  you? 
Lydia  shakes  fier  liead. 

Langfred.  Do  you  know  that  my  uncle  is  here? 

Lydia.  [Vehemently]  Nobody  must  part  us,  Langfred! 

Langfred.  [Quickly]  Has  he  said  anything?  [She  doesn't 
ansioer]  Has  he  been  speaking  to  you? 
Lydia  shakes  her  head. 

Langfred.  We  had  a  long  talk  about  you  to-day — imcle 
and  I. 

Lydia.  [Raises  her  head  irith  a  rapid  movement,  as  she  partly 
frees  herself  from  his  hold;  looks  hard  at  him]  What  did  he  have 
to  say? 

Langfred.  He  knew  you.     I  wasn't  aware  of  that. 

Lydia.  What  did  he  have  to  say? 

Langfred.  Nothing  that  wasn't  good. 

Lydia.  [After  a  moment's  thought]  Oh,  but  he  is  clever! 

Langfred.  Why  do  you  say  that? 

Lydia.  Because  you  are  not  clever.  Oh,  don't  let  him  part 
us,  Langfred! 

Langfred.  Uncle?  How  could  you  imagine  anything  of 
the  kind? 

Lydia.  Nobody  in  the  world  can  be  to  you  what  I  am — 
you  have  said  it  yourself.     Do  so  again!     Tell  me  again! 

Langfred.  Nobody  in  the  world! 

Lydia.  For  nobody  loves  you  as  I  do.     Nobody  can  love 


ACT  11  LABOREMUS  258 

you  as  I  do.  And  nobody  understands  your  music  and  your- 
self as  I  do.  You  have  said  it.  Isn't  that  so.'*  You  have 
said  it! 

Langfred.  [Kissing  her  passionately]  Is  this  answer 
enough "^ 

Lydia.  Never  enough! — Oh,  as  I  now  wind  myself  about 
you,  so  I  want  to  be  a  part  of  all  your  thoughts.  Where  our 
work  is,  there  is  also  our  love.  So  you  have  told  me.  Do 
you  remember.'*  You  said  it  was  true  of  all  normal  people. 
The  same  instinct  that  makes  us  choose  our  work  makes  us 
also  choose  our  wives — that's  what  you  told  me! 

Langfred.  Perhaps  I  did. 

Lydia.  You  did,  you  did!  Nothing  ever  made  me  more 
proud. — I,  who  was  in  love  with  your  Rondo  long  before  I 
saw  you — wasn't  that  a  sign.?  And  I  was  playing  it  when  you 
came  in.  For  the  first  time — unexpectedly.  It  must  mean 
something.  Things  must  have  been  prepared  for  us  two. 
What  do  you  say.'' 

Langfred.  Nobody  has  ever  played  my  Rondo  as  you  did 
that  time. 

Lydia.  That,  too !     It  couldn't  be  a  mere  accident,  could  it.'* 

Langfred.  I  don't  know  about  that.  But  I  do  know  that 
since  then  we  two  have  not  been  able  to  keep  away  from  each 
other. 

Lydia.  [Eagerhj]  That,  too!  That,  too!  And  that  your 
Rondo  grew  into  a  whole  opera 

Langfred.  Oh,  no,  that  had  happened  before. 

Lydia.  Oh ! 

Langfred.  Don't  you  remember.^  It  was  the  first  thing 
we  talked  of.  The  Rondo  as  basis  for  an  opera — in  order  to 
find  expression  for  the  tremendous  longing  toward  nature  that 
lay  back  of  the  story. 


254  LABOREMUS  act  n 

Lydia.  Yes,  perhaps.  [Coaxitiyly]  And  now  it's  the  opera 
we  are  to  live  for? 

Langfred.  [With  feeling]  Of  course! 

Lydia.  Let  nobody  part  us  tlien. 

Langfred.  [Looking  at  her  xvith  surprise]  What  do  you 
mean? 

Lydia.  There  is  danger  ahead.  I  know  it  positively. 
That  is,  I  can  feel  it.  I  always  feel  such  things  in  advance. — 
Let  us  go  away  from  here,  Langfred! 

Langfred.  Now? 

Lydia.  This  very  evening.  I  don't  know — but  I  have  a 
feeling  that  we  must.  Oh,  I  beg  you^et  us  get  away  from 
here! 

Langfred.  But  I  shall  have  to  tell  uncle. 

Lydia.  No,  no,  no!     It  is  he,  don't  you  know! 

Langfred.  AVho  wants  to  part  us? 

Lydia.  That's  just  why  he  has  come  here. 

Langfred.  Uncle? 

Lydia.  My  feeling  warns  me  of  all  such  things.  I  am  so 
sure 

Langfred.  But  he  has  told  me  the  very  opposite — on  my 
honour! 

Lydia.  What  has  he  told  you? 

Langfred.  That  he  understood  perfectly  how  we  two  must 
be  fond  of  each  other. 

Lydia.  That's  rather  ambiguous,  Langfred. 

Langfred.  Uncle  is  frankness  and  truthfulness  personified. 

Lydia.  Have  I  said  anything  to  the  contrary? 

Langfred.  He  is  my  best  friend.  Has  been  ever  since  my 
father's  death.  He  tells  me  everything — without  the  least 
reserve. 

Lydia.  I  don't  doubt  it. 

Langfred.  Oh,  can't  we  have  a  little  nuisie?     I  am  thirsty 


ACT  II  LABOREMUS  Q55 

for  music.     That's  why  I  came.     Why,  I  haven't  heard  you 
play  yet! 

Lydia.  I  have  to  be  in  the  mood  to  do  so. 

Langfred.  And  you  are  not — ?     That's  too  bad! 

Lydia.  The  first  time  I  am  to  play  for  you  again —  Oh, 
you  must  understand — I  must  be  feeling  just  right 

Langfred.  Let  us  talk  music,  then!  Please!  This  whole 
month  I  haven't  had  a  soul — let's  sit  down!  It's  a  fact,  we 
haven't  j^et  had  a  real  talk  together.     For  last  night 

Lydia.  Now,  now! 

Langfred.  I  won't  say  anything  about  last  night.  It  was 
too  splendid  to  be  talked  of. 

Lydia.  We'll  sit  down,  then! 

Langfred.  The  way  we  are  used  to!  You  over  there.  [He 
points  to  the  chaise-longue]  And  I  beside  you. 

Lydia  lets  herself  be  led  to  the  chaise-longue. 

Langfred.  Oh,  it  seems  so  long  ago!  [He  makes  her  lie 
down;  she  chooses  her  own  'position,  ivith  one  arm  supporting  her 
head,  and  the  other  one  resting  along  her  body;  he  changes  the 
position  of  her  legs  slightly,  and  then  steps  back  to  look  at  her] 
Like  a  wave!  Once  I  saw  a  wave  on  a  picture.  A  single 
wave.     It  was  coming  straight  at  us 

Lydia.  [Smiling]  As  if  to  bury  us.'* 

Langfred.  Yes,  to  draw  us  into  itself! 

Lydia.  Undine!     Always  Undine! 

Langfred.  [Taking  a  chair]  What  else  do  you  expect  me 
to  be  thinking  of.'  [He  sits  down. 

Lydia.  I  had  a  strange  experience  while  you  were  away. 

Langfred.  A  strange  experience? 

Lydia.  Perhaps  that  isn't  the  word  for  it.  Let  us  call  it — 
a  vision. 

Langfred.  What  have  you  got  to  do  with  visions? 

Lydia.  [Smiling]  So  that  isn't  right,  either?     Well,  I'll  tell 


256  LABOREMUS  act  n 

it  just  as  it  was.  I  saw  snow-crystals  in  the  sunshine  on  a  per- 
fectly clear  clay. 

Langfred.  It  snowed  on  a  perfectly  clear  day? 

Lydia.  Not  snow — snow-crystals,  I  said — the  loveliest 
snow-crystals.     The  air  was  full  of  them 

Langfred.  [Fascinated]  On  a  perfectly  clear  day.' 

Lydia.  On  a  perfectly  clear  daj'!  I  have  never  seen  any- 
thing so  radiantly  pure.  They  glittered  in  the  air,  in  the  sun- 
light, by  millions,  and  sank  downward  without  a  sound. 

Langfred.  How  could  that  lx»  turned  into  music?  For  it 
suggests  music,  doesn't  it? 

Lydia.  Can  you  guess  what  I  made  out  of  it? 

Langfred.  Oh — a  seraphic  chorus— distant,  invisible? 

Lydia.  No!  Something  much  nearer — nearer  to  us.  It 
made  me  tliink  of  you  and  me. 

Langfred.  What? 

Lydia.  If  you  could  have  your  wish,  then  I  should  be  di- 
vided into  atoms  that  pervaded  your  music.  I  should  glim- 
mer through  it  like  those  snow-crystals,  refining  it — do  you 
understand? 

Langfred.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  do! 

Lydia.  [Sitting  up]  You  love  me  only  in  your  music. 

Langfred.  Immaterially? 

Lydia.  Well,  well — !  Nowadays  I  have  to  be  Undine. 
You  see  m  me  nothing  but  your  Undine. 

Langfred.  Well,  if  that  were  so? 

Lydia.  [Eagerly]  If  that  were  so?  It  does  not  satisfy  me. 
I  love  you! 

Langfred.  I  can't  see  the  difference. 

Lydia.  You  cannot?  [She  lieif  down  again]  Well,  if  that 

Langfred.  Perhaps  you  think — you  love  me  apart  from 
my  music? 

Lydia.  Yes!     Yes,  I  tell  you! 


ACT  n  LABOREMUS  257 

Langfred.  Without  it,  you  wouldn't  even  know  me.  It 
would  change  me  so  completely. 

Lydia.  But  I  want  to  be  something  more  to  you  than  your 
Undine !     You  scare  me. 

Langfred.  Is  that  so.''  "What  do  you  think  Undine  means 
to  me.'' 

Lydia.  An  operatic  libretto!  A  lot  of  themes!  An  inspir- 
ing subject!  It  may  be  inexhaustible,  perhaps — but  you  and 
I  are  not  in  it. 

Langfred.  Yes,  as  surely  as  both  our  natures  are  in  it. 
Don't  you  see?  It  was  our  natures  that  made  the  choice — 
the  choice  of  just  this  thing.  Later,  perhaps,  we  may  choose 
something  else,  and  meet  in  that.  Perhaps !  But  now  we  are 
here!  This  is  the  way  our  natures  are  to  find  expression. 
This  is  the  way  they  are  to  expand.  That  much  is  certain — 
isn't  it? 

Lydia.  [hi  a  ivhisper]  Perhaps — partly. 

Langfred.  What  is  Undine  but  the  sea  itself?  A  poem 
of  the  sea.  The  sea  that  strives  to  climb  the  shore — the  rest- 
lessness that  surrounds  what  is  fixed.  Don't  forget  that  the 
sea  also  mirrors  the  sky;  don't  forget  that!  It  mirrors  the 
sky,  too.  What  longing,  don't  you  see!  How  it  must — • 
how  wistfully  the  sea  must  be  gazing  into  that  infinity! 
Isn't  that  so?  What  yearning!  It  cannot  move  the  land; 
it  cannot  reach  the  heaven  above. 

Lydia.  [Whispering]  No. 

Langfred.  But  that's  the  music,  dear!  The  music  that 
circles  life  as  the  sea  circles  the  land.  And  that  which 
ventures  away  from  it — the  continuation  of  it,  so  to  speak — 
which  cannot  be  held  back — which  cannot  be  overtaken — but 
which  can  never  come  to  rest,  either — — 

Lydia.  [Whispering]  Undine. 

Langfred.  Undine  that  is  reaching  out  her  hands  toward 


258  LABOREMUS  ac  t  n 

the  sky  for  more — that  mirrors  the  sky  without  possessing 
it — and  so  must  away — away  from  all  that  is  fixed  and  un- 
attainable— at  once  clinging  to  it  and  flying  from  it — don't 
you  see? — at  once  craving  it  and  recoiling  from  it. 

Lydia,  wfu)  has  raised  herselj  into  a  sitting  position, 
trembles  and  tries  to  ptdl  Langfred  down  beside  her. 

Langfhed.  [Rising]  Always  on  the  border-line — between 
what's  known  and  unknown.  The  music  goes  further  than 
it  is  aware  of.  When  everything  has  been  said,  then  the 
music  goes  on.  But  it  comes  to  an  end  in  what  even  the  music 
cannot  express. 

Lydia.  [Wlio  has  also  risen]  Langfred! 

Langfred.  It  solves  and  sets  riddles.  AVith  its  eyes  full 
of  the  sky,  it  turns  back  into  itself  and  sobs. — Oh,  there  are 
moments  so  dreadful  that  I  could  leap  backward  from  every- 
thing— I  too — like  the  wave — crushed  into  spray.  For  it's 
beyond  reach — beyond  my  reach! 
Lydia  'presses  close  to  him. 

Langfred.  {Controlling  himself]  No,  don't  cry!  For  this 
concerns  me — not  you! 

Lydia.  Both  of  us! 

Langfred.  Don't  cry!  I  wanted  you  only  to  understand 
that  it  means  a  great  deal  when  I  call  you  Undine. 

Lydia.  I  feel  such  dread.  Rid  me  of  it!  Lift  me  up  to 
yourself.     Let  me  come  with  you.     Hide  me  within  yourself. 

Langfred.  I  shall  never  abandon  you. 

Lydia.  [Passionately]  Oh,  Langfred — that  name  was  given 
you  for  my  sake — it  means  the  "long  peace"  that  you  are  to 
bring  me.  [She  presses  still  closer  to  him. 

Langfred.  [His  voice  becoming  more  intimate  as  Jie  looks 
straight  into  her  eyes]  Don't  you  think  I  understand .' 

Lydia.  Ever  since  I  was  sixteen — no,  even  before  that  - 1 


ACT  u  LABOREMUS  259 

had  to  sit  there  on  the  platform,  playing,  playing — and  think- 
ing. If  only  one  would  come  who  took  me  and  carried  me  off ! 
To  some  sheltered  spot!  So  that  nobody  could  see  me,  and  I 
saw  nobody!  That's  what  I  was  thinking  while  I  sat  there 
and  played.     But  no  one  came. 

Langfred.  Lydia! 

Lydia.  Of  course,  there  came — but  not  the  one  who  could 
carry  me  off — not  you! 

Langfred.  Undine — how  you  have  been  bored — haven't 
yoii? 

Lydia.  Oh ! 

Langfred.  [With  still  greater  intimacy]  And  you've  been 
up  to  a  lot  of  crazy  mischief — haven't  you.^  Out  of  sheer 
boredom — haven't  you.^ 

Lydia.  [Quickly  freeing  herself]  What  do  you  know  .^^  What 
have  you  heard  .^ 

Langfred.  Not  a  thing.     I  just  guess  it. 

Lydia.  You  guess  it? 

Langfred.  One  doesn't  play  as  you  do  without  having 
had 

Lydia.  Some  passionate  longings,  Langfred ! 

Langfred.  [As  before]  More  than  longings! — How  about 
it? — The  first  time  I  heard  you,  I  thought — do  you  know 
what  I  thought? 

Lydia  makes  no  reply. 

Langfred.  "That  woman  has  dived  pretty  deep!  That 
forceful  grip  on  the  most  secret  things  has  not  come  to  her 
for  nothing.  She  has  been  down  in  the  undertow  herself,  she 
has.     On  her  way  to  the  bottom. — Heart  cries!" 

Lydia.  Oh ! 

Langfred.  "But  she  has  pulled  herself  up  again.  What  a 
power  there  is  in  her!" 


260  LABOREiMUS  act  u 

Lydia.  That  came  when  I  saw  you! 

Langfred.  No — you  didn't  see  me. 

Lydia.  I  saw  you  the  moment  you  came  in.  Do  you  think 
I  could  be  mistaken  about  such  a  thing? 

Langfred.  You  didn't  see  me.  That's  absolutely  sure. 
You  didn't  look  up  at  all.  I  stood  there  waiting  for  you  to 
do  so. 

Lydia.  Then  I  felt  your  presence.  When  I  am  playing  I 
am  aware  of  everything. 

Langfred.  That  may  be. 

Lydia.  Oh,  Langfred!  After  all,  it  came  about  just  as  I 
had  dreamt  it.  I  sat  and  played,  and  then  you  came.  Came 
and  took  me  and  carried  me  off!  To  a  sheltered  spot. 
[Leaning  up  against  him]  Now  I  understand  why  it  couldn't 
have  happened  before.  You  are  younger  than  I,  of  course. — 
That,  too,  fills  me  with  such  dread  at  times. 

Langfred.  Of  us  two,  you  are  the  younger,  the  stronger, 
the  wilder!  [Lydia  throws  her  arms  around  his  neck  with  a 
little  cry.]     Isn't  it  true,  perhaps.' 

Lydia.  [In  a  whisper]  It  is  love  that  does  that,  Langfred! 

Langfred.  So  that's  what  does  it? 

Lydia.  It  adds  to  our  stature.  There  is  nothing  we  want 
when  we  love  but  to  add  to  our  own  selves. 

Langfred.  How  wise  you  are  to-day ! 

Lydia.  Of  course,  you  couldn't  love  anybody  but  one  who 
brings  you  music — ever  more  music? 

Langfred.  No. 

Lydia.  Do  you  see?  She  must  be  music,  the  woman  you 
love. 

Langfred.  So  she  must.  But  she  can  be  that  williout 
knowing  how  to  play. 

Lydia.  She  can  be  music  without ? 


ACTH  LABOREMUS  261 

Langfred.  Yes,  she  can. 

Lydia.  Do  you  really  think  so? 

Langfred.  I  know  it. 

Lydia.  Have  you  met  anybody  who ? 

Langfred.  I  have.     Oh,  several! 

Lydia.  Who  brought  you  music — without  knowing  how  to 
make  music? 

Langfred.  Indeed!  Listen — if  you  were  only  in  the 
mood! 

Lydia.  To  play? 

Langfred.  Yes — oh,  play  a  little! 

Lydia.  Just  when  you  are  telling  me  that  the  ability  to  play 
is  nothing? 

Langfred.  That's  not  what  I  said—  But  couldn't  we 
possibly  talk  of  something  else  than  ourselves? 

Lydia.  Certainly! 

Langfred.  Well,  forgive  me,  but  I  am  tortured  by  some- 
thing I  didn't  get  a  chance  to  tell  you  yesterday.  I  didn't 
want  to  let  it  disturb  us.     Not  the  first  time. 

Lydia.  [Apprehensively]  What  do  you  mean? 

Langfred.  I  haven't  been  working.  I  can't  work  any 
more. 

Lydia.  [Frightened]  You  can't  work? 

Langfred.  No,  I  can't! 

Lydia.  You?  You,  who  are  richer  than  all  the  rest  to- 
gether? 

Langfred.  [With  intensity]  Don't  say  that  kind  of  thing 
to  me! — Forgive  me! — The  last  time  we  were  together,  I  got 
so  many  new  ideas.  That's  true.  I  have  never  been  richer 
than  I  was  then.  But  I  couldn't  do  anything  with  them.  I 
could  never  find  the  quiet  I  needed  for  it. 

Lydia.  But  you  went  away  to  get  quiet? 


262  LABOREMUS  act  ii 

Langfred.  And  didn't  find  it.  I  can't  work  any  more — 
Perliaps  the  subject,  too,  is  somewhat  to  blame.  It  doesn't 
seem  real  to  me.  And  then  it's  so  monotonous.  Only  that 
longing,  that  continuous  longing 

Lydia.  For  a  soul,  Langfred!     For  a  higher  life. 

Langfred.  Of  course.  But  it  brings  you  all  the  time  back 
to  that  same  endless  heaving— as  in  Wagner.  It  isn't  my 
line. 

Lydia.  Nobody,  nobody  can  vary  a  theme  as  you  can. 

Langfred.  [Desperately]  Don't  look  at  me  like  that! — 
You  shall  have  the  whole  truth:  When  I  am  away  from  you, 
everything  turns  to  longing  for  you — and  when  I  am  with 
you 

Lydia.  [Interrupting  him  quickly]  Let's  sit  down  at  the 
piano ! 

Langfred.  Yes,  let  us —     Tliat  is,  if  I  dare .^ 

Lydia.  Dare?     Wasn't  that  what  you  wanted? 

Langfred.  Well,  you  see — [Putting  his  hand  into  one  of  his 
pockets]  I  have  brought  something. 

Lydia.  [Running  to  tfie  piano]  And  you  didn't  tell  me  at 
once! 

Langfred.  I  don't  feel  sure  of  myself.  I  don't  think 
it's 

Lydia.  [Opening  the  piano]  Come  now!  [She  strikes  a  few 
chords  containing  the  primary  theme  of  "Undine'"]  Do  you 
remember? 

Langfred.  [Interrupting  her  in  a  firm  tone]  Xo!  I  won't! 
It  isn't  on  a  level  with  that. 

[lie  puts  tJie  manuscript  back  info  hi.t  pocket. 

Lydia.  [Gets  up,  goes  to  him,  and  says  tenderly]  Langfred! 

Langfred.  You  don't  know  what  a  hard  time  I  have  had. 

Lydia.  And  you  didn't  write  me?  If  you  had,  I  would 
have  come  to  you. 


ACT  II  LABOREMUS  263 

Langfred.  I  didn't  want  to  admit  it,  you  know. — Besides, 
I  didn't  feel  quite  sure  of  it  myself. 

Lydia.  I  am  thankful  that  you  turned  to  me  at  last.  In 
spite  of  all!  And  you  shall  not  be  disappointed! — I  shall 
build  up  a  vast,  vast  stillness  about  you — as  if  you  were  living 
in  a  forest — in  a  deep  forest,  Langfred. 

Langfred.  [Growing  attentive]  What  do  you  mean  by  that.'* 

Lydia.  The  problem  is  to  find  solitude;  to  get  away  from 
everything  on  the  outside. 

Langfred.  Exactly! 

Lydia.  The  last  time  we  couldn't.  Our  whole  time  was 
wasted  in  that  way — trying  every  possible  scheme  to  be  left 
alone.  Thafs  what  caused  our  restlessness. — Can't  you  see 
that.? 

Langfred.  Perhaps! — Well,  you  know 

Lydia.  [Interrupting  him]  Let  us  go  away  from  here, 
Langfred! — Yes,  there  is  no  other  way  out  of  it! — You  and 
I — I  and  you — and  stillness,  stillness — nobody — no  one  else 
and  nothing  else — then  you  will  see! 

Langfred.  I  wish  it  were  possible — for  I  am  pretty  far 
gone! 

Lydia.  Let  us  go,  Langfred! — Oh! — Oh,  come  down-town 
with  me — at  once! 

Langfred.  Down-town.'* 

Lydia.  I'll  just  run  in  and  change  my  dress,  and  then  we'll 
go  down-town  and  get  ready. 

Langfred.  What  has  down-town  to  do  with  all  this? 

Lydia.  Why,  I  must  have  a  few  things  for  my  travelling 
outfit. 

Langfred.  Haven't  you  clothes  enough.' 

Lydia.  For  travelling.?     No! 

Langfred.  [Smiling]  And  we  who  are  going  away  to  be 
alone ? 


264  LABOREMUS  act  ii 

Lydia.  I  fear  you  don't  understand  what  an  outfit  implies? 

Langfred.  Yes!  A  lot  of  trunks!  Big,  cumlxTsome 
beasts!     An  infernal  drag! 

Lydia.  But  tliere  is  something  in  all  those  trunks  that  ean 
be  turned  into  art.  ^Vlmost  in  the  same  way  as  your  bundles 
of  musical  manuscripts. — Tell  me:  what  does  a  painter  know? 

Langfred.  A  painter?    Not  much,  as  a  rule. 

Lydia.  About  his  art,  I  mean — about  his  own  art? 

Langfred.  Oh!  I  suppose — things  about  drawing  and 
colouring 

Lydia.  And  a  sculptor? 

Langfred.  About  lines  and  shapes. 

Lydia.  And  a  musician? 

Langfred.  What  in  the  world ? 

Lydia.  [Interrupting]  And  a  musician? 

Langfred.  Well— about  tonality  and 

Lydia.  An  outfit  is  all  that  put  together.  A  part  of  our- 
selves— that  is,  when  we  are  wearing  it.  And  we  ourselves, 
you  know — we  ourselves 

Langfred.  [Kissing  her]  Enchanting! — I'll  go  with  you! 
They  are  standing  near  tlie  door  at  the  right. 

Lydia.  Now  you  have  warmed  up  a  little. 

Langfred.  You  thmk  so? 

Lydia.  Well,  not  as  much  as  you  should! — I  tell  you — to 
love  one  like  you  is  a  terrible  thing.     Can  you  deny  that? 

Langfred.  Yes. 

Lydia.  I  won't  flatter  you  by  setting  you  right. 

Langfred.  Good-bye  then!     [lie  goes  totvard  tlie  rear  door. 

Lydia.  [Whispering  after  him]  You  mustn't  let  your  uncle 
know  about  this! 

Langfred.  [Turning  around  with  a  suiilr]  Of  course,  uncle 
had  to  turn  up  at  last!  [He  starts  to  leave  again. 


:t  n  LABOREMUS  265 

Lydia.  [By  the  door  at  the  right]  Are  you  going  out  that  way? 
Langfred.  Is  there  another — that's  available? 

Lydia  glides  out  backivard  to  the  right. 

IjANGFRED  folloivs  her. 

Curtain. 


ACT  III 

A  smaller  room  in  the  same  hotel.  There  is  a  door  at  the  back. 
To  the  right  of  it,  a  bed  with  a  screen  in  front.  Beside  the 
bed  stands  a  rather  large,  open  trunk;  also  a  hat-case.  On 
a  cliair  lies  a  plaid,  loith  a  suit-case  placed  on  top  of  it,  and 
on  top  of  that  again  a  hat.  Nearer  the  foreground  stands 
a  "horse,"  on  tohich  rests  a  small  case  for  music-books. 
A  quantity  of  sheet  music  lies  on  the  floor  beside  it. 

Langfred  Kanx  statuls  by  the  case  sorting  out  the  music.  Some 
of  it  he  throws  away,  and  some  of  it  lie  puts  carefully  into  the 
case. 

Against  the  opposite  wall — that  is,  at  tfie  left — are  a  toilet  table 
and  a  wardrobe.  A  table,  with  chairs  around  it,  is  near 
this  wall,  which  lias  a  door  in  the  extreme  foreground. 

Langfued.  [As  a  knock  is  heard  on  the  door  at  the  left]  Come 
in! 

Dr.  Kann.  [Enters,  carrying  a  small  box  in  one  hand] 
Well — ?     You're  packing? 

Langfred.  [Flustered]  There  was  a  lot  of  music  lying 
around  since  I  was  here  before.  It  had  to  be  sorted  out  some- 
time. [He  goes  on  with  his  work. 

Dr.  Kann.  [IVfw  has  made  an  crcursion  up  to  the  big  trunk 
and  is  now  peeping  through  the  half-open  door  of  the  wardrobe] 
Why,  you  have  cleared  out  the  wardrobe,  too? 

Langfred.  I  got  here  last  night,  and  I  haven't  unpacked 
yet. 

266 


ACT  in  LABOREMUS  267 

Dr.  Kann.  Here  I  have  something  for  you.  [Langfred 
turns  toivard  him]  You  remember,  we  couldn't  find  any  trace 
of  your  father's  seal 

Langfred.  [Pleased]  Have  you  found  it.^ 

Dr.  Kann.  It  had  been  broken.  Your  father  had  just  sent 
it  away  to  be  mended  when  he  was  taken  sick.  Somehow  the 
address  was  lost  at  the  engraver's.  There  was  no  call  for  it, 
and  the  man  didn't  know  whose  it  was.  Then  he  happened 
to  get  an  order  from  me — and  the  same  seal  appeared  on  my 
letter.     That's  how  it  came  to  be  returned.     Here  it  is. 

Langfred.  Thank  you  ever  so  much!  You  couldn't 
have  brought  me  anything  more  precious.  [He  takes  the  seal  out 
of  the  box  and  reads  the  motto  on  it]  Laboremus! — There  it  is! 

Dr.  KL^nn.  In  our  seal ! 

Langfred.  In  our  blood,  I  hope! 

Dr.  Kann.  I  am  not  here  alone,  you  know.  I  have  a 
young  girl  with  me. 

Langfred.  Whom  you  went  to  London  for — an  American.'* 

Dr.  Kann.  No,  she  has  only  lived  in  America.  She's  a 
Norwegian. 

Langfred.  x\nd  speaks  Norwegian.'* 

Dr.  Kann.  Of  course.  She's  quite  young.  Only  seven- 
teen. 

Langfred.  Well,  it's  too  bad — I  haven't  much  time  left. 

Dr.  K\nn.  Oh,  you  haven't? 

Langfred.  Well,  don't  misunderstand  me! — But  what 
about  the  girl.'* 

Dr.  Kann.  I  happened  to  tell  her  about  the  story  of  your 
"Undine." — You  don't  mind,  do  you.^ 

Langfred.  No-o! 

Dr.  Kann.  And  do  you  know  what  she  said? 

Langfred.  What? 

Dr.  Kann.  "It  seems  rather  monotonous  to  me." 


268  LABOREMUS  act  m 

Langfred.  And  she  is  seventeen?     But  she  is  right.     Is  she 
clever? 

Dr.  Kann.  Rather  original.     "I  know   what  an  Undine 
is,"  slie  said.     "I  could  tell  him  about  one." 

Langfred.  She  could? — Oh,  she  is  thinking  of  some  fairy 
tale. 

Dr.  Kann.  No,  of  an  actual  experience.     "It  might  turn 
all  his  plans  upside  down,"  she  said. 

Langfred.  We-ell?     You've  heard   it,  I  suppose?    Can't 
you  tell  me  about  it? 

Dr.  Kann.  Wouldn't  you  rather  hear  it  from  her? 

Langfred.  Well,  can  I? 

Dr.  Kann.  Of  course! 

Langfred.  But  when?     At  once? 

Dr.  Kann.  Why  not?     Could  she  come  in  here? 

Langfred.  Would  it  do? 

Dr.  Kann.  Do  you  think  she's  afraid?     One  who  is  Amer- 
ican and  Norwegian  at  the  same  time? 

Langfred.  Probal)ly  I  am  the  one  who  ought  to  be  afraid? 

Dr.  Kann.  [.l^  he  starts  to  go  out]  Yes,  rather!     She's  in 
there.  [He  goes  out  through  door  at  the  left. 

Langfred  makes  Jmste  to  get  things  a  little  in  order. 

Dr.  Kann.  [Is  heard  saying  outside]  Oh,  come  now! 

Borgny  enters  a  moment  later.  Slie  Juis  on  a  black  dress 
with  collar  and  cuffs  of  lace,  and  resembles,  in  her 
features  and  the  manner  in  which  her  hair  is  arranged, 
the  portrait  seen  in  the  previous  act. 

Dr.  Kann.  [Following  her  into  tlic  room]  May  I  iutroduct- 
Miss  Auclaire — -my  nephew,  Langfred  Kann. 

Langfred.  Yt)u  are  looking  for  something.  Miss  Auclaire? 

Borgny.  I  thought  there  must  be  a  i)iano  here. 

Langfred.  You  play? 

Borgny.  Not  much.     But  I  thought  you  played. 


ACT  m  LABOREMUS  269 

Langfred.  I  am  only  on  my  way  through  here. 

BoRGNY.  You  are  going  away? 

Langfred.  Yes — oh,  not  at  once! 

BoRGNY.  I  had  looked  forward  with  such  pleasure  to  hear- 
ing a  composer  play. 

There  is  a  knock  at  the  door  on  the  left. 

Langfred.  [Impatiently]  I  wonder  who  that  can  be.? 

Dr.  Kann.  Oh,  T  think  it's  for  me.     If  you'll  permit  me? 
He  goes  to  the  door  and  opens  it;  a  Bellboy  hands  him  a 
card  on  a  tray,  and  Dr.  Kann  reads  the  card. 

Bellboy.  The  gentleman  says  you  are  expecting  him,  sir. 

Dr.  Kann.  That's  right. — You'll  have  to  excuse  me. 

[He  goes  out,  followed  by  the  Bellboy. 

Langfred.  [To  Borgny]  Won't  you  sit  down,  please? 

BoRGXY.  Thank  you. 

They  seat  themselves  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table. 

Langfred.  You  have  something  to  tell  me,  haven't  you? 

Borgny.  Can  I  go  right  ahead? 

Langfred.  If  you  please. 

Borgny.  I  want  to  tell  you  something  that  happened  in 
my  own  family.  A  woman — one  of  the  finest  that  ever  lived 
— became  very  sick.  She  was  confined  to  a  chair  or  her  bed. 
She  couldn't  do  anything — couldn't  play,  though  she  cared 
more  for  that  than  for  anything  else — couldn't  even  have 
her  daughter  about  her. 

Langfred.  Why  couldn't  she  have  her  daughter  about  her? 

Borgny.  Because  her  disease  was  infectious. 

Langfred.  Oh! 

Borgny.  Her  longing  for  music  and  for  her  daughter  made 
her  worse.  The  doctors  decided  that  she  must  at  least  have 
music.  The  family  was  living  in  the  country,  but  was  very 
rich.  So  they  made  inquiries  through  the  musical  agencies 
for  a  fine  woman  pianist. 


270  LABOREMUS  act  hi 

Langfred.  But  the  disease  was  infectious? 

BoRGNY.  Tliat's  why  nobody  would  come  for  a  long  while. 
But  finally  they  found  one  who  dared. 

Langfred.  A  good  one.' 

BoRGNY.  An  exceedingly  gootl  one — with  a  big  reputation 
even. 

Langfred.  This  is  very  interesting:  music  as  a  remedy 
against  disease! — Well,  how  did  it  turn  out.'' 

BoRGNY.  Splendidly.  The  woman  who  came  proved  per- 
fectly captivating.  There  was  about  her  person  and  her 
playing  something — something  having  almost  hypnotic  in- 
fluence. The  invalid  took  a  new  lease  of  life;  her  appetite 
improved;  she  became  able  to  sleep.  Her  hold  on  life  grew 
to  such  an  extent  that  the  doctors  at  last  began  to  have  hopes. 
People  began  to  talk  about  it.  This  was  a  case  where  music 
actually  had  worked  a  miracle. 

Langfred.  That  music  has  healing  power — who  can  doubt 
it? 

Borgny.  Another  person  besides  the  invalid  was  listening. 
A  timid  man,  who  was  always  hiding  in  a  corner. 

Langfred.  The  husband  of  the  sick  woman? 

Borgny.  [Nods  assent]  Those  two  people  had  been  living 
all  by  themselves  on  their  estate.  He  wanted  it,  and  she  had 
let  him  have  his  way,  although  she  herself  had  a  lively  tem- 
perament and  was  fond  of  fun. 

Langfred.  He  was  eccentric,  I  suppose? 

Borgny.  He  was  a  passive  nature — living  mostly  in  his 
own  thoughts  and  out-of-doors.  But  he,  too,  loved  music. 
So  he  took  great  pleasure  in  that  woman's  playing,  and  still 
more  in  the  fact  that  his  wife  was  recovering.  He  admired  the 
artist,  and  his  gratitude  hail  no  limits.  She  saw  this — and 
she  made  use  of  it. 

Langfred.  To  get  around  him? 


ACT  in  LABOREMUS  271 

BoRGNY.  She  was  skilled  in  that  kind  of  thing,  and  he  had 
no  experience  whatever.     So  he  was  easilj'  captured. 

Langfred.  You  don't  mean .^ 

BoRGNY.  She  wished  no  longer  to  cure  his  wife.  Instead 
she  wished  to  get  her  out  of  the  way.  She  wanted  to  take 
her  place. 

Langfred.  But  the  sick  woman  herself ? 

BoRGNY.  Understood  everything — oh,  at  once!  She  was 
a  very  spiritual,  very  sensitive  nature. 

Langfred.  And  didn't  tell.^ 

BoRGNY.  I  wouldn't  have  done  that  either. — Soon  she 
became  incapable  of  doing  so. 

Langfred.  In  what  way.' 

BoRGNY.  The  other  one  was  taking  her  strength  away 
from  her.  Inch  by  inch!  By  means  of  her  will,  her  eyes, 
her  music — yes,  she  turned  even  the  music  against  her. 

Langfred.  [Rwing]  Well,  I  never 

Borgny.  The  poor  invalid  had  long  been  giving  her  full 
confidence  to  one  of  the  doctors,  but  he  was  away  at  the 
time.  When  he  returned  at  last,  she  was  too  far  gone  to 
speak.  But  she  wrote  to  him — a  line  now  and  a  line  then — 
and  asked  him  to  let  her  die. 

Langfred.  [Gently]  And  she  did  die.' 
Borgny  answers  icith  a  nod. 

Langfred.  To  be  so  utterly  heartless!  To  employ  music 
like  that!  [He  takes  a  turn  up  and  down  the  floor]  You 
shouldn't  have  told  me  this.  I  am  the  sort  of  fellow  who 
never  gets  rid  of  a  thing  like  that. 

Borgny.  [Rising  and  speaking  very  calmly]  Well,  you 
shouldn't  get  rid  of  it. 

Langfred  comes  to  a  stop. 

Borgny.  W^hy,  here  you  have  your  Undine! 

Langfred.  Undine.'     Like  that.' 


272  LABOREMUS  act  m 

BoRGXY.  As  dark  and  as  passionate — taking  her  colouring 
from  her  own  element. 

Langfred.  So  she  does  in  my  work,  too.  You  needn't 
doubt  that.     But  she  isn't  as  cold  as  that! 

BoRGNY.  The  wave  is  cold. 

Langfred.  But  she  loves.     And  she  wants  to  rise. 

BoRGNY.  Yes.     But  whatever  stands  in  her  way  she  kills. 

Langfred.  [In  a  flash  of  comprehension]  Of  course! — In 
other  words:  he  must  be  married.'* 

BoRGNY.  Yes. 

Langfred.  The  man  whom  Undine  loves  must  be  mar- 
ried— ?  Undine — one  morning  Undine  sees  them  together 
on  the  shore.  That's  it !  She  sees  them  folded  in  each  other's 
arms.  Then  she  makes  up  her  mind  to  kill — at  once! — Good 
gracious ! 

Borgny.  She  begins  to  flatter  her,  and  tempt  her. 

Langfred.  She  pulls  and  pulls — they  struggle — the  dark 
voice  and  the  white  one.  And  then  choruses  of  spirits — 
those  of  the  sea,  and  those  of  the  world  above  it.  What 
colours! 

Borgny.  But  after  that  he  must  refuse  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  her. 

Langfred.  That's  a  foregone  conclusion.  Of  course! 
Undine  has  violated  laws  that  are  unknown  to  her.  She 
has  closed  to  herself  the  world  into  which  she  wanted  to  rise. 
And  cannot  understand  it. 

Borgny.  So,  I  suppose,  she  is  forced  back  into  the  sea.^ 

Langfred.  Back  into  the  sea —  Now  the  whole  thing 
grows  bigger,  and  those  two  incompatible  elements  [As  if 
speaJciny  to  hinisclf] —      I  must  tell  her  about  this  at  once. 

Borgny.  Yes,  I  hear  you  are  collaborating  with  somebody. 

Langfred.  Oh,  no,  I  don't.  I  always  work  alone.  But 
there  is  a  person  I  consult  with — a  prominent  woman  i)ianist. 


ACT  III  LABOREMUS  273 

[Those  words,  as  he  speaks  them,  seem  to  give  him  pause]  I 
want  to  tell  her  about  it. — [With  a  sudden  change  of  tone] 
And  you  are  only  seventeen? 

BoRGNY.  I  am  older  than  that — seventeen  years  and  three 
months. 

Langfred.  That's  what  I  thought — that  you  must  be  older. 

BoRGNY.  I  should  like  to  say  one  thing  more. 

Langfred.  Why  only  one.^ 

BoRGNY.  Because  it's  all  I  have  to  say. — He — I  mean  the 
man  whom  Undine  loves — must  be  a  dreamer. 

Langfred.  That's  what  I  have  him — a  nature-lover, 

BoRGNY.  A  poet,  for  instance — or  a  musician. 

Langfred.  Why.?* 

BoRGNY.  Because  such  people  are  more  easily  capturedl 

Langfred.  And  you  are  only  seventeen  years  and  three 
months  old.'' 

BoRGNY.  And  five  days! 

Langfred.  Oh,  yes,  that's  what  I  thought:  seventeen  years 
and  three  months  would  not  have  been  enough. — And  you 
have  absolutely  nothing  more  to  say.^ 

BoRGNY.  Only  a  wish  on  your  behalf:  that  the  air  may  be 
clean  where  you  are  to  work. — Good-bye! 

Langfred.  A  very  modest  wish! 

BoRGNY.  What  more  can  you  expect  of  one  whose  age  is 
only  seventeen  years,  three  months,  and  five  days? 

[She  drops  him  a  curtsey. 

Langfred.  [Simultaneously]  And  five  days! — I  should  like 
to  know  whether  there  are  not  a  few  hours  to  be  added? 

Borgny.  I'll  go  to  my  room  and  figure  it  out.  Will  you 
let  me  come  back  when  I  have  done  that? 

Langfred.  Why,  certainly! 

Borgny.  Then,  perhaps,  I  might  hear  at  the  same  time 


274  LABOREMUS  act  hi 

what  your  lady  has  to  say  about  tlic  changes.     You  will  tell 
her  the  story,  won't  you? 

Langfred.  Oh,  what  a  (juestion! — Is  there  really  nothing 
more,  then? 

BORGNY.  No,  thank  you!     Tliis'will  do. 

[She  curttieys  again. 
Langfred.  But  we'll  see  each  other  again! 

He  accompanies  her  to  the  door;  when  she  has  left  and  he 

turns  around,  hisjace  is  beaming  with  pleamire. 
A  knock  is  heard  at  the  door  in  the  hack. 
Bellboy.  [Entering]  Madame  Wisby  asks  if  you  are  ready 
to  go  shopping  with  her. 

Langfred.  Ask  Madame  ^Yisby  if  I  can  see  her.  Tell  her 
I  want  to  speak  to  her. 

Bellboy.  Madame  Wisby  is  outside,  sir. 

He  opens  the  door,  which  has  stood  ajar  until  then,  and 
Lydia  becomes  visible.     She  wears  a  very  elegant  street 
dress  and  is  just  pulling  on  her  gloves. 
The  Bellboy  leaves. 
Lydia.  [Entering]  What  is  the  trouble?     Dr.  Kann? 
Langfred.  [As  he  goes  to  the  door  and  closes  ii]  No,  no,  no! 
Something  entirely   different,   indeed!  [Coming  back  to  Iter] 
It's  about  Undine.     She  has  become  more  of  a  natural  force. 
All  the  sentimentality  is  gone.     She  has  become  terrific — 
something  huge! 

Lydia.  A  new  subject? 

Langfred.  No,  the  old  one,  but  expanded.  The  man 
whom  Undine  has  fallen  in  love  with — he  who  is  to  lift  lier 
up — he  has  a  wife. 

Lydia.  Is  he  to  be  married? 

Langfred.  Wait  now!  This  is  ever  so  much  better.  Just 
wait! — Undine  sees  them  tt)getluT  on  the  shore. 


ACT  III  LABOREMUS  275 

Lydia.  Him  and  his  wife? 

Langfred.  Him  and  his  wife.  She  sees  the  wife  caressing 
him.  She  sees  him  embracing  her.  She  sees  them  walking 
away  with  their  arms  around  each  other.  You  can  imagine 
her  rage,  can't  you.' 

Lydia.  But  this  is  something ■ 

Langfred.  No,  wait  now!  Then  begins  the  real  story. 
Undine — she  wants  to  have  her  own  way,  you  know — 
wants  it  passionately!  Undine  can  bear  no  resistance. 
All  her  host  surrounds  her.  Next  time  the  wife  appears  on 
the  shore,  siren  songs  rise  from  everywhere.  Songs  that 
tempt  and  pull.  And  out  of  those  waves  of  melody  rises 
Undine  herself.  A  dark,  rich  voicq, — you  can  hear  it,  can't 
you.-^  It  proclaims  nature — proclaims  health  for  the  wife,  who 
is  sickly  and  languid.  Health  is  to  pour  in  upon  her  from 
the  sea.  "Come,"  chants  the  chorus  from  every  side — tempt- 
ingly, oh,  so  temptingly.  "Come,"  sings  Undine,  "and  the 
sight  of  you  shall  once  more  please  your  husband:  in  my 
arms  there  is  health  waiting  for  you." 

Lydia.  She  kills  the  wi 

[She  checks  herself  in  the  midst  of  a  word. 

Langfred.  You  are  struck  by  that,  are  you  not.''  That 
idea  is  one  that  opens  new  vistas.  Of  course,  she  doesn't 
realise  what  she  is  doing:  she  is  Undine.  And  then  he 
appears,  just  as  it  is  happening.  P'irst  he  shows  despair,  then 
disgust,  and  then  hatred.  And  Undine  is  horror-stricken. 
For  it  is  something  she  cannot  understand. — Then  the 
choruses — the  tremendous  choruses — now  they  swell  out. 
The  chorus  that  represents  Undine,  that  champions  her 
cause  and  strives  to  carry  her  upward.  And  the  chorus  stand- 
ing for  the  moral  world — how  it  is  gathering  force.  It  comes 
on  like  a  storm.  It  overthrows  her,  and  all  that  is  hers, 
amidst  thunders  and  terrors. — Back  into  the  sea  with  her! 


276  LABOREMUS  act  m 

[After  a  pause,  in  a  subdued  tone]  I  feel  as  if  I  couMn't  wait  to 
begin ! 

Lydia.  Where  have  you  got  hold  of  that  idea?  You 
haven't  read  it? 

Langfred.  No — a  story  I  heard  a  few  minutes  ago — it 
came  out  of  that.  An  actual  happening.  Something  dread- 
ful. 

Lydia.  A  story ? 

Langfred.  A  story  about  a  sick  wife  who  was  highly 
musical.  They  thought  she  might  be  cured  by  music.  A 
wonderful  idea,  don't  you  think?  And  so  they  sent  for  a 
renowned  woman  pianist,  who  was  to  play  for  her — who  was 
daily  to  pour  out  this  draught  of  strength.  And  so  she  did 
with  remarkable  effect.  The  strength  of  the  sick  woman  be- 
gan to  increase.  It  seemed  to  be  nourished  by  the  music — 
like  a  plant  taken  from  the  cellar  and  given  light  and  air. 

Lydia.  Wasn't  that  splendid? 

Langfred.  Splendid?  You  call  it  splendid?  Do  you 
know  what  she  did? 

Lydia.  The  pianist? 

Langfred.  She  killed  that  woman !— Just  think:  to  have 
the  power  of  restoring  health  by  music,  and  to  use  it  for  the 
purpose  of  killing!  She  turned  it  in  the  wrong  direction. 
She  took  away  the  husband.  She  took  the  life  of  her  who  was 
lying  helpless.  She  took  it  by  means  of  a  thousand  and  one 
secret  arts. 

Lydia.  Who— who  has  told  you  that?     Dr.  Kann? 

Langfred.  Uncle?  He  hasn't  said  a  word.  Not  a  thing! 
My  uncle  seems  to  have  become  a  fixed  idea  with  you! — 
But  can't  you  imagine  the  possibilities  of  orchestration 
around  this  new,  white  voice?  The  outcry  of  helplessness 
— the  white  lamentation  of  innocence.  Then  the  cold  cruelty 
of  nature  by  which  it  perishes — the  dark  voice,  you  know. 


ACT  in 


LABOREMUS  277 


Lydia.  But  it  cannot  possibly  have  happened  that  way. 

Langfred.  What  do  you  mean?     What  are  j'ou  talking  of? 

Lydia.  She — the  woman  who  was  killed,  as  they  say 

Langfred.  The  sick  woman — ?  What  makes  you  think — 
How  did  it  happen? 

Lydia.  How  can  I  tell?  How  can  anybody'  know  such  a 
thing?     Can't  you  see  that  they  have  been  fooling  you? 

Langfred.  No —  Who  the  devil  would  have  an  interest 
in  doing  that? 

Lydia.  That  anaemic  woman  whom  they  want  to  drag  into 
your  opera — what  has  she  to  do  there?  In  the  realm  of 
natural  forces?  She— that  sickly  thing!  She  is  to  bring  in  a 
"white"  colouring,  you  say?  Colourless — that's  what  it  will 
be.     Moonshiny — just  moonlight! 

Langfred.  You  take  sides  against  her? 

Lydia.  With  a  man  placed  between  those  two — on  one  side 
that  woman  who  can  neither  live  nor  die — on  the  other  side 
one  who  is  both  whole  and  strong — do  you  want  me  to  take 
sides  with  the  sick  one? 

Langfred.  But,  Lydia ! 

Lydia.  You  want  to  force  me  to  do  so?  To  sympathise 
with  her  who  could  no  longer  be  a  wife — and  who  had  prob- 
ably not  been  so  for  many  years! 

Langfred.  How  do  you  know? 

Lydia.  Why,  you  said  so! 

Langfred.  Did  I? 

Lydia.  Or  else  it  became  clear  to  me  while  you  were  telling 
the  story.     It's  a  foregone  conclusion. 

Langfred.  There  is  just  one  thing  you  forget:  that  other 
woman — the  pianist — had  come  to  the  place  to  cure — to  bring 
health  to  the  poor  sick  woman  through  her  music. 

Lydia.  And  while  she  was  doing  so  the  husband  became 
attracted  to  her.     That's  easy  to  understand,  I  should  say. 


278  LABOREMUS  act  m 

Langfred.  [Shows  that  he  is  controlling  himself  with  diffi- 
culty; at  laM  he  manages  to  sai/]  But  when  she  noticed  that ? 

Lydia.  Well,  what  then?  I  don't  know  what  happened — 
but  I  imagine  that  she  stood  up  for  her  right. 

Langfred.  Her  right.^  Do  you  mean  the  right  of  a  beast 
of  prey.^ 

Lydia.  Why  isn't  it  possible  to  talk  of  this — of  this  thing 
that  concerns  neither  you  nor  me — to  talk ? 

Langfred.  Calmly  of  it?  Well,  if  you  have  the  stomach 
to  do  so,  go  ahead!  [Silence. 

Lydia.  You  love  only  those  who  are  fortunate,  Langfred. 
Those  whose  powers  are  properly  adjusted — so  that  they  fit  in 
everywhere. 

Langfred.  Is  that  so?  Was  that  the  reason  why  L'n- 
dine  became  my  first  love — because  her  powers  were  properly 
adjusted? 

Lydia.  No,  I  shouldn't  say  that  exactly. 

Langfred.  Nor  do  I  think  you  could  say  so —  But,  of 
course,  all  this  is  on  the  side.  We  were  talking  of  the  opera. 
You  object  to  this  change? 

Lydia.  Object  to  it?  That  isn't  strong  enough:  I  hate  it! 
All  this  sentimental  stuff  and  nonsense! 

Langfred.  Sentimental?     This! 

Lydia.  W'hat  it  comes  to  is  a  struggle  between  love  and 
morality.     Just  as  if  we  didn't  liave  enough  of  that  anyhow! 

Langfred.  I  am  not  a  philosopher 

Lydia.  Nor  am  I! 

Langfred.  But  nevertheless  I  can  see  that  in  this  way 
Undine  is  brought  face  to  face  with  what  humanity  has  gained. 
If  she  could  grasp  that — it  would  mean  that  she,  too,  had 
a  soul. 

Lydia.   What  was  it  she  should  grasp? 

Langfred.  'riial    Iuimkui    life    is    based    on    higher    laws. 


ACTin  LABOREMUS  279 

These  she  violates,  and  is  repulsed.  Can't  you  hear  the 
swarming  deeps  gathering  around  her  in  uncomprehending 
onslaught?  Hordes!  And  then  the  replies — the  radiant 
replies  from  above — like  a  shower  of  lances  burning  with  the 
light  of  victory !     And  the  thunder! 

Lydia.  That's  getting  too  grand  for  me.  What  I  could 
understand  was  her  lack — what  she  suffered  because  of  her 
environment — her  longing  to  ascend  toward  what  she  could 
never  attain — her  craving  after  a  higher  form  of  life — her  be- 
lief that  she  might  reach  it  by  making  the  soul  of  a  man  her 
own— and  that  through  him  she  might  win  a  share  of  life. 

[She  is  deeply  moved. 

Langfred.  It  is  there!     And  will  always  be!     All  of  it! 

Lydia.  Only  that  she  may  be  betrayed!  Only  that  she 
may  be  cast  back  into  that  out  of  which  she  strove  to  rise ! 
-  Langfred.  Yes,  because  she  tried  to  rise  by  means  of  a 
crime.  Because  she  offended  against  the  order  of  that  higher 
world  into  which  she  wanted  to  rise.  It  cannot  be  done 
in  such  a  way.     That's  the  new  element  that  has  been  added. 

Lydia.  Crime—?  I  cannot  see  anything  criminal  in 
Undine.  The  tale  of  Undine  stands  for  the  yearning  of  all 
nature — for  the  vast  love  of  what  lies  above — for  that  which 
saves,  no  matter  what  may  happen. 

Langfred.  The  sky  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the  sea — 
that's  a  dream  only.     A  dream  cannot  save  anybody. 

Lydia.  Yes,  if  it  is  met  by  another  dream  of  equal  power! 
By  a  love  so  great  that  it  can  raise  the  blackest  sinner  up  to 
itself.  That  it  can  take  her  m  its  arms  and  whisper:  "By 
me  you  shall  be  cleansed!  My  eyes  alone  will  do  it — so  full 
of  kindness  toward  you  they  are.  All  that  against  which  you 
have  wounded  yourself  before  shall  now  melt  away.  Noth- 
ing, nothing  whatever  shall  be  able  to  resist  my  hands  when 
they  are  held  out  toward  you.     I  shall  carry  you  to  where 


280  LABOREMUS  act  in 

the  angels  dwell.  Even  for  that  my  love  is  strong  enough. 
Yes,  should  it  be  demanded— should  no  other  way  be  open 
to  us— then  I  would  die  the  death  of  atonement  with  you— 
holding  you  in  my  arms — and  then  they  would  have  to  let 
us  pass." 

Langfred.  That  is  something  I  have  read  about. 

Lydia.  It  is  the  great  love!  That  was  what  I  wanted  you 
to  create  in  your  work.  It  was  in  that  love  we  met.  [With 
despair  in  her  voice]  Why  don't  you  remain  faithful  to  it, 
Langfred? 

Langfred.  Because  that  story  has  been  shattered  for  me — 
into  a  hundred  thousand  fragments. 

Lydia.  In  what  way.^ 

Langfred.  Oh,  that  glittering  disc  of  the  sea,  that  blind 
natural  force — Undine  wanting  to  reach  heaven — when  you 
try  to  take  hold  of  it  in  earnest,  you  can't  do  it.  For  then 
you  find  your  way  barred  by  everything  man  has  achieved, 
by  everything  he  feels  and  knows  to-day. 

Lydia.  [With  grief]  You  cannot ? 

Langfred.  Nobody  can:  the  distance  is  too  enormous. 
Not  a  single  change  would  suffice — but  a  hundred  thousand 
changes  in  the  course  of  millions  of  years — if  such  a  creature 
is  to  reach  heaven!  There  is  no  stroke  of  the  bow  that  would 
tell  such  a  tale.  It  is  more  than  a  modern  imagination  can 
accept. 

Lydia.  [Hopelessly]  Then  you  have  abandoned  Undine 

Langfred.  That  was  not  Undine.  No,  the  one  who  kills 
mercilessly  in  order  to  have  her  way — that's  the  true  Undine. 
Then  you  get  the  proper  distance. 

Lydia.  [.4*  before]  You  won't,  then?     You  won't,  then! 

Langfred.  Bear  in  mind  what  life  is.  All  imaginative 
creation  is  nothing,  after  all,  but  an  enlargement  or  a  fore- 
shortening of  life.     For  life  is  the  only  thing  we  know. 


ACT  in  LABOREMUS  281 

Lydia.  As  if  life  didn't  hold  thousands  who  have  done 
worse  things  to  get  up! — Oh,  Langfred,  Langfred! 

Langfred.  But  they  don't  get  up! 

Lydia.  And  you  dare  to  tell  me  that? 

Langfred.  Not  to  heaven!  Not  to  what  heaven  stands 
for  in  our  minds! — Think  again! 

Lydia.  But  that  hysterical  skeleton  which  is  clawing  at 
real,  living  life  with  her  dry  bones — she  belongs  to  heaven, 
you  think.'*  That  gasping  thing  that  poisons  existence  with 
her  breath — that  creature  of  consumptive  passion — is  she 
going  to  heaven.'*  Are  the  forces  of  life  and  nature's  own 
power  to  be  driven  out  by  her.^  I  hate  her!  And — I  could 
hate  you,  too — indeed,  I  could — when  you  run  astray  like 
that  and  get  yourself  slavered  over  with  all  sorts  of  senti- 
mentality.    It's  a  treachery!     Don't  look  at  me  like  that! 

I  could — I  could 

Langfred  remains  'perfectly  calm. 

Lydia.  Now  you  are  thinking:     "Is  that  you.''" 

Langfred.  [Quietly]  Yes. 

Lydia.  No,  Langfred,  this  is  not  I!  It  is  only  my  despair! 
If  you  could  understand — this  inane  talk  of  mine  must  make 
you  understand — how  dear  our  dream  has  been  to  me!  And 
what  might  not  have  become  of  it,  if  we  two  had  been  allowed 
to  work  together — I  don't  mean  together — but  if  I  had  only 
been  allowed  to  watch  you !  Forgive  me  what  I  have  been 
saying.  All  I  want,  don't  you  know,  is  to  keep  my  hold — 
to  cling  to  the  fact  that  Undine's  limitless  love  springs  out 
of  eternity  and  makes  for  eternity?  Why  should  her  faith 
be  disappointed,  Langfred? — Oh,  you  must  save  her,  Lang- 
fred— also  for  my  sake,  in  a  way! 

Langfred.  Do  you  really  want  us  to  talk  it  over? 

Lydia.  Yes. 


282  LABOREMUS  act  in 

Langfred.  For,  of  course,  wc  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 
done  so — can  we? 

Lydia.  No!     I  hope  you'll  forgive! 

Langfred.  And  sui)pose  we  sit  down? 

Lydia.  Yes.  [She  ?>  about  to  sit  dowti. 

Langfred.  [Pointing]  Over  there,  if  you  please. 

Lydia.  Just  as  you  say ! 

Sfie  seats  herself  on  the  chair  he  occupied  xchile  talking  to 

BoRGNY,  and  he  takes  the  chair  on  which  Borgny  was 

sitting. 

Langfred.  Everything  has  become  so  clear  to  me.     Listen 

now.     What   Undine  seeks   is  peace  from  all  her  longings, 

isn't  it? 

Lydia.  Yes,  indeed! 

Langfred.  But  one  thing  is  certain:  that  if  she  takes  his 
peace — then  he  has  none  left  to  give  her. 
Lydia.  But  love? 

Langfred.  It  is  the  same  thing  over  again.     He  cannot 
take  into  his  arms  what  would  freeze  him. 
Lydia.  Do  you  think  she  is  cold? 

Langfred.  I  am  thinking  of  that  warmth  which  has  grad- 
ually become  a  part  of  human  life.  She  has  nothing  of  that. 
It  doesn't  include  her.  He  and  she  belong  to  different  worlds. 
Thousands  of  years  lie  between  them. 

Lydia.  She  doesn't  feel  in  the  same  way  as  he — is  that  what 
you  mean? 

Langfred.  She  cannot  feel  as  he  does. 
Lydia.  Not  entirely,  perhaps — what  does  it  matter? 
Langfred.  Imagine  a  man  with  a  mission  to  fulfil.     And 
then,  by  his  side,  one  who  tries  to  stop  him. 
Lydia.  Why  should  she  trj'  to  stop  him? 
Langfred.  It  is  as  if  our  mind  were  driving  four-in-hand — 
and  our  imagination  takes  the  place  of  the  leaik-rs.     It  is  in 


ACT  in  LABOREMUS  283 

our  imagination  everything  comes  into  existence — long  before 
— long  before  we  begin  in  earnest  to  analyse,  to  concentrate, 
to  mould  into  shape.  But  just  there — in  our  imagination — 
with  the  leaders — that's  where  everything  is  at  stake.  [He 
speaks  as  if  lost  in  reflection]  There — they  must 

Lydia.  [Tensely,  yet  timidly]  There — what  about  it? 

Langfred.  [Decisively]  Nothing  must  stop  them;  nothing 
must  lead  them  astray —  Our  imagination  must  have  pure 
air  to  breathe.     The  air  in  everj^  room  must  be  pure. 

Lydia.  We  were  talking  about  the  feelings. 

Langfred.  [As  before]  And  there  must  be  peace — which  is 
impossible  when  two  people  feel  difTerently.  [Rising]  Those 
wrathful  choruses  of  spirits  from  above — those  should  surpass 
anything  I  have  ever  done  before! 

Lydia.  [Rising]  Surpass.^  That  stuff? — When  you  dis- 
tort a  great  classical  theme  by  psychological  pettifogging — 
when  you  try  to  modernise  a  venerable  marble  column,  after 
fishing  it  out  of  the  river  where  it  has  been  scoured  by  sand 
and  water  for  many  thousand  years — you'll  never  become 
great  by  surrendering  to  that  kind  of  thing! 

Langfred.  And  still  less  by  not  being  true  to  my  own  feel- 
ings. 

Lydia.  [In  a  rage]  Oh,  that  Christian  rant — !  Is  there 
anybody — ■?     Is  anybody  listening  at  that  door? 

She  goes  quickly  to  the  door  at  the  left,  opens  it,  and  falls 

back  with  a  heart-rending  cry. 
Borgny  enters. 

Lydia.  That  woman  again!  [Going  straight  up  to  Borgny] 
Who  are  you? 

Borgny.  My  mother's  daughter. 

Langfred.  What ? 

Lydia  loses  all  her  strength.     She  walks  slowly  toward 


!284  LABOREMUS  act  m 

the  door  in  the  rear.     At  the  door  she  turns  around  and 
gives  a  long  look  to  Langfred.     Then  she  leaves. 
Dr.  Kann.  [lias  entered  in  the  mean  time;  now  he  puts  his 
hand  on  Langfked's  shoulder]  Now  you'll  put  all  that  be- 
hind you! 

Langfred.  But  that  cry,  uncle — that  heart-rending  cry! 
Dr.  Kann.  Will  pursue  you  for  a  long  time — until  it  turns 
to  music. 

Langfred,  deeply  stirred,  is  about  to  reply,  when  he 
notices  Borgny  and  checks  himself. 
BoRGNY.  [Embarrassed]  I  can  go  to  father  now.' 
Dr.  Kann.  Oh,  you  must.     I'll  stay  here. 

IVhen  Borgny  has  left,  Langfred  rushes  into  his  uncle's 
arms. 
Dr.  Kann.  You'll  he  able  to  work  now. 
Langfred.  Not  at  once.     Oh,  not  for  a  long  time! 
Dr.  Kann.  Perhaps  not — but  all  the  better  when  the  time 
comes. 

Curtain. 


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